


Big Fluffy Puppy With Bad Teeth

by CloudsPanties



Series: Werewolves of London [1]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Werewolf, First Time, Kink Meme, M/M, Past Drug Use, Werewolves, den building
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-05-03
Updated: 2012-06-21
Packaged: 2017-11-04 18:18:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 21,844
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/396796
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CloudsPanties/pseuds/CloudsPanties
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John comes home to find a big black wolf on his bed, surrounded by his jumpers. The wolf is Sherlock.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into 中文 available: [Big Fluffy Puppy With Bad Teeth](https://archiveofourown.org/works/1657397) by [ogawaryoko](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ogawaryoko/pseuds/ogawaryoko)



> Written for [this prompt](http://sherlockbbc-fic.livejournal.com/16422.html?thread=93702438#t93702438) on the Sherlock BBC Kink Meme. It got a bit away from me, really. It's not finished yet, but not only did I get requests for an easier way to follow the fic, new posts are getting a bit lost in the thread! So here's the easier-to-follow-and-read edition. Please let me know if you find any errors and enjoy!

The first time, it scared the bejesus out of John. He came home after moonrise, having been out playing football with Lestrade and a few mates. The flat was an absolute mess, with Sherlock not in his usual spot on the couch. Fearing the worst, John rushed about to look for either Sherlock or clues as to what had happened. He found a shaggy, black-furred wolf on his bed, surrounded by a mess of cloth. Upon seeing John, it sat up to wag its tail rapidly and pant happily at him.

“Jesus Christ!” John shouted, backing into the hall and gripping the doorframe like it would save him if the wolf charged.

The wolf hopped off the bed, still wagging its tail and appearing to smile. Panicking, John slammed the door and rushed downstairs to check on Mrs. Hudson.

“Mrs. Hudson! Mrs. Hudson, there is a wolf upstairs!” he yelled as he ran down the stairs two at a time.

“Oh, that’s just Sherlock, dear!” she told him, waving her hand as if it were nothing. “He didn’t tell you, did he?”

“Tell me what?”

“He’s a werewolf, dear. His whole family is, you know. He forgets to tell people. It’s why he can’t keep a flatmate. They come home to a big black wolf, assume it’s some mad experiment of Sherlock’s and move out the next day.”

“That…that wolf is Sherlock? But I’ve lived here for months!” John protested, waving his hand in the general direction of his bedroom.

“You haven’t noticed that he gets a bit odd around the full moon?” Mrs. Hudson asked, ushering John into her kitchen. “He isn’t home, or actually goes to bed for a few days?”

“He’s always odd, Mrs. Hudson.”

“Well, I have to give you that, dear. Come on now, let’s get you some tea. Once you’ve had a nice cuppa, you can go back up and sort out things. I’m sure he’s got some plan if you’ve seen him.”

 

After tea, John returned to his own flat and stood in front of his door. He took several deep breaths before opening the door. The wolf – Sherlock – was on the bed again, surrounded by John’s jumpers. He stayed where he was this time, though his tail wagged furiously when John entered the room.

“Sherlock, this is you, yeah? Not some wolf you got to freak me out?” he asked.

The wolf glared at him with blue-gray eyes and growled quietly, clearly disapproving and trying to tell John he was a twit. Definitely Sherlock.

“We’re going to have to talk about this in the morning, okay?”

Sherlock nodded.

“Do I need to take you for a walk or something before bed?”

Sherlock barked excitedly and jumped off the bed, tail still going a mile a minute. He brought John a leash attached to a collar, then dropped it at his feet and waited for approval. Sighing, John picked up the leash.

“Just a quick one, okay?” he said, unclipping the collar as he kneeled in front of Sherlock.

While he waited, Sherlock barked excitedly and sat. The damned wolf looked like he was preening as John clipped the collar around his neck and grabbed the end of the leash.

“Alright, you. A quick walk, then we go to bed.”

 

By the time they made it back to the flat, an hour had passed. Sherlock bounded about the neighborhood in a better mood than John had ever seen him as a human, making it a bit hard for him to make the furry bastard cut the walk short. Eventually, Sherlock had marked his share of trees and tugged John home, tail still wagging furiously. It hadn’t stopped since John had opened the door after tea with Mrs. Hudson.

Once they were back in the flat, John set a bowl of water on the floor for Sherlock. While the wolf drank, John took his collar off.

“Sherlock, I’m going to shower and get to bed. You can sleep in my room tonight if you like.”

When John wandered back to his room after his shower, Sherlock was on his bed in the jumper pile again. Sighing, John shooed the wolf off his bed and moved the jumper pile to a spot on the floor next to his bed.

“Sleep there. You’re washing those in the morning, by the way,” John ordered.

Sherlock glared at him as he slunk off to the pile, turning around three times before settling in and yawning. John did much the same in his bed, without the turning.

 

In the morning, Sherlock and the pile of jumpers were gone from John’s floor. When he went to the kitchen for breakfast, John noticed that the mess in the rest of the flat had been cleaned up as well. Sherlock never left a note when he left (or sent a text) unless there was a case, so John assumed he’d gone off to clean the jumpers and blankets from the night before. Well, fervently hoped, really, as he settled in his chair with the morning paper.

 

Around lunchtime, John was startled awake by Sherlock returning. He’d dozed off during some trivia show and hadn’t heard Sherlock come in until he purposely made noise to wake John.

“I see you’re back to being human now,” John grumbled, stretching and trying to wake up more.

“Since moonset, naturally,” Sherlock said, settling into his own chair. “I have cleaned your jumpers and blankets as you requested, by the way. They are on your bed.”

“Thank you. Now do you want to explain yourself?”

“What is there to explain? I’m a werewolf, John. I come from a very long line of them, so it is only natural that I am one. Mycroft is as well, but he has an easier time hiding it because of his position. Once a month, I become a wolf for three consecutive nights. I am told I’m much more agreeable that way.”

“You really are. So, what, for three nights every month I get a pet wolf?”

“Basically. Are you alright with that?”

“It’s honestly one of the least bonkers things that have happened in this flat. It’s fine, Sherlock. It’ll take some getting used to, but I’ll manage.”

“Good, I’m glad to hear that. If you could go shopping to pick up a few things, I’ve made a list.”

“Why couldn’t you do it while you were cleaning my jumpers?!”

 

Just to be spiteful, John stopped at the pet store on the way home. He brought back a bed, dishes, and toys for Sherlock, determined to embarrass him one way or another.

“Sherlock!” he called as he came in the door, hoping Sherlock wasn’t running another experiment.

Sure enough, Sherlock poked his head out of the kitchen, covered in some kind of mess John didn’t want to know about.

“What’s that?” he asked, pointing a goo-covered hand at the pet store bag.

“I bought you a bed. No more sleeping on my jumpers.”

“I’m not a _dog_ , John.”

“And my jumpers are not a _bed_ , Sherlock.”

 

By sunset, the kitchen had been cleaned and Sherlock’s new bed set beside John’s. They’d made sure to have an early dinner, after which Sherlock retired to his room to await his transformation. Perhaps thirty minutes after he’d hidden away, there was howling, whining and scratching at the door from Sherlock’s door.

“Sherlock, enough!” John shouted, getting out of his chair and walking down the hall.

Once the door was opened, Sherlock bolted out and into his chair, tail thumping against the arm. John joined him with a sigh, returning to his reading as Sherlock settled in his chair. Every time John looked up from his novel, Sherlock was looking at him with pleading eyes. He gave up after a few pages, setting the novel aside and standing.

“Fine, we’ll go for a walk,” John said, going to get Sherlock’s leash.

Sherlock bounded after him, wagging his tail furiously as he waited. Once John got out the leash and kneeled down, Sherlock sat and waited for the collar to be clipped on. He wriggled excitedly, making John laugh softly.

“I like you much better like this, you know,” John told him as the collar went on. “I know what you’re thinking and you actually look happy.”

Giving the wolf equivalent of a huff, Sherlock lifted his muzzle in a superior manner and pranced off to the door. As John grabbed the end of his lead and walked out with him, he couldn’t help but laugh. Sherlock’s leash and collar were in the same colors and pattern as his beloved scarf.


	2. Chapter 2

Following the walk, Sherlock left John alone for the most part. He settled at John’s feet by the fire and chewed on a toy John had brought home, occasionally setting it on his companion’s lap so it could be thrown and chased.

At bedtime, John laid the rules down.

“I’m going to shower. You’re allowed on the bed, not _in_ the bed. When I get back, you’re sleeping in _your_ bed.”

Sherlock whimpered, but John ignored it and left the room. When he returned, Sherlock was on John’s bed, tail swishing back and forth in delight. Without saying a word, John pointed to the pet bed; Sherlock went quietly but was clearly attempting to sulk as much as a wolf could. Satisfied, John got ready for bed and settled in for sleep.

Until Sherlock interrupted with a whine.

Sighing, John rolled over to find Sherlock resting his head on the side of John’s bed, his blue-gray eyes pleading. 

“What?”

The only response was another pathetic whine.

“I don’t know what you want. Do you need to go out?”

Sherlock shook his head. After another moment or two of staring pleadingly, he padded off to the laundry hamper and nudged it with his nose.

“You want a jumper to sleep with, don’t you?”

Sherlock wagged his tail.

“Fine, but only because it’s got to be washed anyway,” John said, getting out of bed to get the jumper for Sherlock.

As John got it out of the hamper, Sherlock practically danced around his feet, clearly pleased with getting a jumper to sleep with. Rolling his eyes but smiling affectionately, John put the jumper on the pet bed. It was closely followed by Sherlock, whose tail continued to wag.

“You’re insane, you know that?” John teased, ruffling the dark fur between Sherlock’s ears.

In response, Sherlock licked John’s hand and yipped quietly.

“Yes, yes, mad but brilliant and that’s why I put up with you and all that. Go to sleep.”

Satisfied with his answer, Sherlock curled up and watched as John got back into bed.

“Good night, Sherlock.”

Sherlock snuffled into the jumper and wagged his tail.

“Good enough,” John said, and turned the light off once more.

 

John woke up early the next morning to get ready for his shift at the surgery and found Sherlock missing from his pet bed. The jumper was gone, so John assumed he’d changed back and gone to his human bed. Just to be sure, he peered into Sherlock’s room before leaving. There was Sherlock, curled up in his bed. Poking out of the blankets were Sherlock’s unruly curls and the sleeve of John’s jumper. Smiling to himself, John closed the door quietly and crept out of the flat.

 

While John was gone, Sherlock picked up the toys and bed, placing them in John’s closet to await next month’s full moon. Well, all of them except a stuffed hedgehog he quite liked that was placed on his bed.

 

“Why do you always steal my jumpers when you’re a wolf?” John asked at dinner that night.

“I’m not sure. I suspect it has to do with familiar and comforting scents. I should be in my own closet, logically.”

“Right, but for some reason, you’re in mine. Maybe because you take your laundry to the cleaner’s and I don’t?”

“Possibly. Your jumpers do tend to have a more home-like smell than anything I wear.”

“Well, I suppose it’s okay if you nick the dirty ones and wash them.”

Sherlock raised an eyebrow at John, making him sigh.

“Right, you don’t do the washing. Just put them in the hamper, then.”

They fell into silence after that, remaining quiet until after the kitchen was cleaned up. Sherlock actually made tea and brought in biscuits for dessert and settled in next to John on the couch for crap telly.

“Sherlock, are you feeling alright?” John asked, making room for him on the couch.

“Fine, yes. I am just… Thank you for your help and acceptance these past three days. No one outside of my family has ever been so helpful.”

“You’re welcome. It’s what friends do, you know.”

Had John been paying attention to Sherlock’s face and not the biscuit he was picking up, he would have noticed an ever-so-slight blush rising on the detective’s cheeks.

“Friends, yes, absolutely. I’ve just never had one, really.”

“Now you do. One to walk you and scratch that spot behind your ear every month.”

“Don’t push it, John Watson.”

John simply chuckled in response.

 

A few days after the last full moon night, John bought three different calendars that displayed moon phases. One went in his bedroom, one in the living room for all to see, and one page-a-day on John’s desk at the surgery. Sherlock scoffed, telling John that he knew exactly when the moon would be full innately. John replied that he didn’t, so the calendars stayed.

 

Two weeks after the full moon, Sherlock made a request.

“John, if you could no longer bring women back to the flat that would be wonderful.”

“Can I ask why?”

“The scent bothers me. The flat does not smell like home with a foreign scent in it.”

“The Yarders come stomping through all the time and it doesn’t bother you,” John pointed out, still pecking away at his laptop’s keyboard.

“I _know_ them. I _know_ their scents. If the flat’s got Lestrade’s scent in it, that means we’ve got a case, so it’s a good thing.”

“Or it means they’ve set up another drugs bust. One of these days, they’ll catch you as a wolf,” John warned him. “Or one of your experiments will inadvertently test positive for drugs.”

“Don’t be ridiculous, John. Lestrade knows about my condition, he won’t call for a drugs bust during a full moon.”

Scowling, John looked away from his laptop completely and glared at Sherlock.

“Lestrade knew before I did? I _live_ with you!” he shouted.

“John, I’ve known Lestrade for years. Mycroft used to insist I stay with him on full moon nights to stay out of trouble.”

“I’m just a little upset that you never told me. You know I…”

“Caring isn’t an advantage, John,” Sherlock deadpanned in his best Mycroft voice.

John burst into giggles and just like that, the tense moment was over.

 

A week before the next full moon, John dug out the bed and toys again. Sherlock scattered the toys as he pleased but the bed stayed at John’s bedside. It wasn’t uncommon to see Sherlock lounge on the couch with a squeaky toy in his stomach, lazily squeezing it as he remained deep in thought.

This time, John picked up on the odd behavior. Sherlock actually ate and slept, but was also more erratic than normal and prone to behavior John could only classify as “wolf-like.” He wanted attention more often, and he wanted it as physical affection, offering his messy curls to John for petting regularly. The day before the full moon, all Sherlock did while John was home was sprawl across his lap, asking for pets while watching crap telly. While he found it odd at first, John eventually realized that this was simply Sherlock being starved for attention. Sherlock had never had a real romantic relationship and his family hadn’t been terribly affectionate since he was young by his own admission.

Speaking of Sherlock being young, John was going to have to ask Mycroft if there were photos of Sherlock as, well, a puppy. Since Sherlock had been born a werewolf, John could only assume he’d transformed into a pup once upon a 1970-something. He’d also have to ask if a person had to be born a werewolf or could be bitten and become one like in the movies. John had a lot of questions, actually.

And a lapful of sleeping Sherlock as well.

 

The morning of the first full moon, Mycroft visited. He let himself into the flat unannounced and set a box down on the coffee table in front of John.

“Is there a severed head in this box?” John asked, inspecting it as if it might attack.

“Family photos, actually,” Mycroft said, settling into Sherlock’s chair. “Sherlock has informed me that you know our family secret, so I brought these.”

Cautiously, John opened the box and took out an album labeled “SHERLOCK” and relaxed on the sofa with it.

“Naturally, the staff couldn’t be werewolves, but also had to be familiar with them. Since Mummy couldn’t take any herself, our nanny took photos of Sherlock.”

Inside the album were photos of Sherlock as an infant, swaddled and happy and apparently being passed through half the family. After those photos were several of a small, curly-furred puppy asleep on its belly in a crib and one of said puppy receiving a belly rub.

“He was quite cute, wasn’t he?” Mycroft asked, taking one of the other books for himself. “Such a shame he had to grow up.”

Humming to let Mycroft know he’d heard, John kept flipping the pages. John found photos of a lighter pup that could only be Mycroft curled up next to Sherlock’s crib, photos of both puppies growing and playing, a few of the entire Holmes family (the curls came from his mum, apparently), and plenty of photos of them all as humans.

As John was opening another album, his text alert sounded.

_I know Mycroft is showing you puppy photos. –SH_

“He says he knows you’re showing me these,” John said, putting the phone back down. “The next one will tell me to get rid of you, but we all know you leave when you like.”

As if on cue, another text came in with just those instructions. John rolled his eyes and pointedly ignored it. Not long after, however, Mycroft was standing and adjusting his suit.

“Well, John, I must be off. You keep those, by the way. Mummy’s got the originals.”

“Oh, um, thank you. I’m sure Sherlock will be delighted to see you’ve left copies.”

“Ah, isn’t that the point? Have a pleasant full moon, John.”

 

Shortly after John had hidden the albums away (he suspected Sherlock might tear them apart), Sherlock returned from the lab at Bart’s. Once he’d taken his coat and scarf off, he collapsed across John’s lap with a sigh. Without missing a beat, John began running his hand through the dark curls.

“Are you sleeping?” John asked after a time. “We need to get moving if you want to go out for dinner before moonrise.”

Sherlock mumbled into John’s leg muscles, not quite ready to get up. He lay there stubbornly, already feeling the canine instincts kicking in. He wanted to stay by this human but also stretch out and receive a belly rub, or go play with his favorite ball.

“I want to go to the park after I change,” he said, finally sitting up.

“You want to _play_ in the park.”

Huffing, Sherlock got off the sofa and stalked over to put his coat and scarf on again. John rolled his eyes as he stood up, leaving Sherlock to stew in his superiority while he got the leash and Sherlock’s ball.

“Ready to go, fluffy?” John teased as he put his own coat on.

“I will tear your throat out while you sleep.”

 

They made it back home with time to spare after dinner, but Sherlock still disappeared as soon as they were inside the flat. When John heard the shower turn on, he rolled his eyes and settled in to wait for Sherlock.

Just after moonrise, Sherlock came trotting out as a wolf with a brush in his mouth. John took it with a sigh, letting Sherlock sit in front of him before starting to brush his fur.

“You do realize how vain this is, yeah?” John asked as he brushed the curls. “You’re a _wolf_ at the moment and you’re going to the park.”

Sherlock nipped at John’s hand when it came close enough, telling him that yes, he knew, and no, he didn’t care. When Sherlock finally deemed the grooming done, he pranced over to the table and sat, waiting for John to put his collar on.

“I’m coming, I’m coming,” John grumbled, kneeling when he reached Sherlock to clip the collar on. “Demanding as always.”

 

Sherlock pranced all the way to the park, his muzzle lifted in a superior manner. Once they got into the park, though, all bets – and the leash – were off. Sherlock bounded about the park chasing his ball, quite possibly the happiest John had ever seen him. They played for nearly an hour, until Sherlock set the ball down at John’s feet and flopped down.

“Done, are we? Let’s get you home.”

On the way back to Baker Street, Sherlock’s tail wasn’t still for a moment. His happiness was infectious, making John smile as they walked home. When they did get home, Sherlock was still drinking from his water dish as John went to get ready for bed. The two of them settled in on the couch after John’s shower with Sherlock across John’s lap as he read, Sherlock’s tail continuing to swish across the cushion the whole time.

“It’s getting late, Sherlock,” John said as he finished the chapter and set his book to the side. “Let’s get to bed.”

Obediently, Sherlock hopped off the couch and padded off to John’s room. As he usually did when he reached John’s room first, he hopped up on the bed and settled in. This time, though, when John came in with Sherlock’s stuffed hedgehog, he didn’t make Sherlock get down and simply climbed into bed

“You can sleep on the bed tonight, but _only_ tonight,” John told him, rubbing behind his ear. “Tomorrow it’s back to the pet bed.”

Sherlock licked John’s face in thanks, making the doctor laugh as he wiped his face with his sleeve.

“Go to sleep, Sherlock.”

Following his usual routine of turning around and burrowing into the blankets, Sherlock fell asleep against John’s back with his tail wagging.


	3. Chapter 3

As usual, Sherlock was gone when John woke up the next morning. He was sure that Sherlock had taken a jumper and gone back to his bed, where he would currently be curled up under the blankets. Following his usual morning routine, John decided to check on him anyway. Predictably, Sherlock was snuggled into the blankets with a jumper from John’s hamper. John had crossed the room and moved Sherlock’s curly fringe off his forehead before he knew what he was doing, though he still couldn’t resist placing a light kiss to the detective’s forehead even when he _was_ aware of what he was doing. Sherlock shifted a little in his sleep, but otherwise didn’t seem to notice. Satisfied that his friend was fine, John headed off to work.

 

Following dinner and Sherlock’s transformation that evening, he and John settled in on the couch again to watch telly. John absent-mindedly rubbed Sherlock’s belly as they watched, scratching just so in the right places. Just as he was about to grab one of the squeaky toys, Sherlock bolted off the couch and to the door, barking loudly but apparently happily.

“Sherlock, what’s gotten into you?” John asked, following him to the door.

Sherlock howled as the door opened, revealing an amused Lestrade.

“Thought I’d pop in to see how you two were getting on,” he explained, bending to scratch under Sherlock’s chin. “Still like to howl in the middle of London, I see.”

Giving a happy yip, Sherlock licked Lestrade’s face while his tail wagged so fast it blurred.

“And you’re still only affectionate as a wolf. It must be why you haven’t exploded from pent up affection.”

“Would you like some tea?” John asked, already heading for the kitchen. “Sherlock’s got a few toys there if you want to play with him.”

“Oh, you play now?” Lestrade teased, ruffling Sherlock’s fur. “I’d love some tea, John, thanks.”

“He never did when he stayed with you? Yesterday he asked for the park as a _human_.”

“No, he just sulked all night. I took him out for walks but he never seemed excited. Granted, Sherlock only stayed with me because it kept him away from drugs and attacking someone.”

“He certainly likes it now. Squeak the ball and see what he does.”

Deciding to give it a shot, Lestrade picked up Sherlock’s ball and squeaked it experimentally. Sherlock jumped back, wiggling his butt in the air while lowering his torso and looking ready to pounce. Lestrade threw the toy down the hall, laughing when Sherlock darted after it, barking the whole way. They continued to play fetch while Lestrade and John had tea, though Sherlock did pause for a moment to visit his water dish.

“I had better be going,” Lestrade said after they’d finished their tea. “Crimes to solve and all that. I’m glad you two are doing so well, though.”

Sherlock set his head on Lestrade’s lap, whining and giving him what could only be called ‘puppy eyes.’ Laughing, Lestrade scratched behind his ears.

“I’ll visit again, you furry menace. Don’t tear up the flat, alright?”

 

After Lestrade left, John took Sherlock for a quick walk before bed. It had already become a routine for them during the full moon nights to take a walk before settling in for the night. While it had begun as a way to keep Sherlock from destroying the house or peeing everywhere or both, both he and John now looked forward to it as a relaxing activity to do together. Sherlock also liked to pee on every tree on or around Baker Street. When they both started to yawn (and it was _terrifying_ to see Sherlock yawn as a wolf), John decided it was time to return home.

As usual, John cleaned up and changed into pajamas before heading to bed, followed closely by Sherlock. When John crawled into bed and settled in, Sherlock rested his head on the edge of the mattress and looked at him pleadingly.

“You’ve got a jumper, go to bed.”

Sherlock whimpered.

“No, you can’t sleep on the bed, Sherlock.”

Another, more pained, whimper.

“Oh, _fine_.”

Sherlock was on the bed in an instant, curling himself around John’s legs with his tail thumping away at the bed.

“Good night, Sherlock,” John said, ruffling his fur before turning the light off and getting comfortable.

In response, Sherlock moved just enough to lick his face, then draped himself across John’s legs and slept.

 

John woke up to a weight on top of him. He panicked for a moment, thinking he was still in Afghanistan and something had gone terribly wrong. When he started to roll over, however, the weight mumbled in a familiar voice.

“John. John, stop moving,” Sherlock grumbled as he wrapped his long limbs around John.

“Sherlock, you had better not be naked in my bed.”

“You’ll be happy to know I am wearing pajamas.”

“ _Why_ are you in my bed?” John asked, sighing into his pillow.

“I figured out why I like your jumpers; they smell like you. I can just go to the source instead of the jumper.”

“So you thought the best way to do that would be to lie on top of me?”

“Yes,” Sherlock replied, burying his face in John’s T-shirt. “Go back to sleep. You don’t have a shift today, rest.”

Knowing that Sherlock would only get off when he was ready, John sighed again and fell back asleep.

 

Around noon, Sherlock was gone and John was finally free to leave the bed. He’d shuffled out to the kitchen and gotten a cup of coffee before he noticed his flatmate on the couch and realized what Sherlock was wearing for pajamas.

“Why are you wearing my jumper?” he asked, already feeling a headache coming on.

“It smells like you. You scent comforts me during the full moon.”

“Right. I’ll just… chalk this up to weird werewolf behavior, then.”

Sherlock nodded, still managing to look dignified in a jumper that was too big even on its owner and his plaid pajama bottoms. Shaking his head, John settled into his chair and pretended that Sherlock hadn’t resorted to not only borrowing but wearing his clothes.

 

The rest of the day was lazy and quiet. Sherlock sprawled on the couch with his laptop on his stomach, while John settled into his chair by the fire with a novel and tea. Neither of them bothered getting dressed, deciding to have dinner delivered instead of fetching it. They ate on the sofa together, watching some talent competition they didn’t particularly care about. In a surprising display of affection, Sherlock leaned against John as he picked at his food and yelled at the television.

“You certainly are cuddly this month,” John said eventually.

“I usually only get like this around family,” Sherlock mumbled. “I apologize if it bothers you.”

“It’s fine. Weird werewolf behavior strikes again.”

Sherlock hummed in agreement, though the sound had a bit of a growl to it. Realizing this, he quickly checked the time and got up.

“I can’t believe I let it get this late! John, I’ll just be… I need to… Moonrise in five minutes.”

With that, he dashed off to his room. John peered down the hall to stare at the closed door for a moment before going back to his dinner. In a few minutes, he’d go let Sherlock out and they’d finish eating. He didn’t want to think about what it said about his life that this wasn’t terribly abnormal.

 

After their evening walk, Sherlock got up on John’s bed without the pleading eyes. John let him stay.

 

Following the full moon, Sherlock continued to be affectionate. It was subtle and John wouldn’t have noticed if it wasn’t so strange for Sherlock. It mostly amounted to a lingering touch here, some unnecessary contact there, maybe leaning on John and falling asleep while sitting on the couch. The falling asleep thing could be overlooked, as Sherlock tended to push himself until his body demanded sleep. John had come home a few times to Sherlock on the floor just inside the flat, snoring away into his scarf, so falling asleep on his shoulder was the less strange option.

 

Two weeks after the full moon, Mycroft texted John on his way home from the surgery. After some insisting, he’d finally started sending advance notice of a black car pulling up to the curb next to John. While the whole process was still creepy, it was better than the car and Mycroft’s assistant just appearing.

Once the car stopped at the appointed place, John let the assistant (he could never quite be sure what her name currently was) lead him to a cozy-looking room. Mycroft was already seated on the sofa, pouring tea and looking at home. John sat in a chair opposite the sofa and waited for him to start talking.

“Sherlock has become… affectionate as of late, hasn’t he?” Mycroft asked, as if he didn’t already have the answer.

“Ah, yeah, a bit. It’s strange coming from him, but I’ve chalked it up to weird werewolf behavior.”

“Well, it isn’t all that ‘weird’ to us werewolves,” Mycroft said, sounding amused as he passed John a teacup. “He’s welcoming you to the pack.”

“So that would make me, what, an honorary Holmes wolf?”

“Something like that. In the interests of letting other packs and werewolves know that you’re a friend, we do ask that you get a small marking.”

“You want me to get a tattoo, you mean.”

“Yes, a small tattoo. The traditional placement is a shoulder blade.”

“It’s a paw print, isn’t it?”

“Moon phases, actually. Paw prints are too common, you see.”

John nodded as he took a sip of the tea Mycroft had given him. Being an army officer, he already had a tattoo; a second wouldn’t be that bad.

“We’d like for you to get it now,” Mycroft told him after a moment of quiet. “I’ve arranged for everything, all you need to do is agree.”

Sighing, John checked his watch. Late afternoon on a non-full moon day, so it wasn’t absolutely necessary to rush back to Baker Street.

“Alright, I’ll get the tattoo.”

 

As soon as John was inside 221B, Sherlock popped out of the kitchen with a cup of tea and take out. John couldn’t help but think of the shaggy wolf he turned into, eager to please and wagging his tail furiously.

“You got the mark, then?” Sherlock asked, taking a seat in his chair.

“I got the mark,” John confirmed, carefully arranging himself so his shoulder didn’t press into the back of his chair.

Sherlock nodded, still looking like an eager puppy. The flat grew quiet as John sipped his tea and enjoyed being home, away from Mycroft and the buzz of a tattoo parlor.

“I’ll show you it later,” John said after a bit. “After I’ve washed it up. I might actually need your help taking care of it. It’s in a bit of a weird place.”

 

“John, you really don’t need to be wearing your swimming trunks,” Sherlock said as he wiped plasma off John’s shoulder.

“Let me maintain just a little bit of dignity, Sherlock.”

Sherlock let it go, knowing that John wouldn’t back down from this. As he finished wiping the plasma away, however, he couldn’t help but stuff his nose in John’s neck and inhale deeply.

“Sherlock, what the _hell_ are you doing?” John asked, completely deadpan.

“Scenting you. You’re a part of my pack now.”

“You _know_ my scent. You sleep with it across your face a few times a month.”

“It’s just ‘weird werewolf behavior,’ as you so eloquently put it.”

“Alright, alright. Just do it some other way, one that isn’t creepy.”


	4. Chapter 4

A few days later, Mycroft called John to make sure his shoulder was healing properly. John, being so used to Sherlock texting him everything and not recognizing the number, almost didn’t answer.

“How is your shoulder, John?”

“Hello, Mycroft. It’s healing, starting to get into that lovely scab phase. Can I ask you something?”

“Yes, of course.”

“Is it normal for Sherlock to have an obsession with how I smell? He shoves his face in my hair and neck when I ask him to help me clean my tattoo.”

“You _are_ new to the pack. If it persists, you need to have a talk with him.”

“Why’s that?”

“Because after a certain point, he is no longer acclimating and is bordering on courting.”

“Courting as in…?”

“Courting as in ‘please be my mate,’ John.”

“I was afraid you’d say that.”

 

Now that he was part of the pack, John started learning more about werewolves. Sherlock chattered on about it while he cleaned John’s tattoo every evening, pausing every so often to scent his friend again. In the space of a week, John learned that if both parents were werewolves all their children would be as well, but if only one parent was a werewolf, no children would be werewolves; a person could only be made a werewolf via a bite from a pureblooded werewolf on a full moon night; finally, leadership passed much like it did in a monarchy, and as such Mycroft and Mummy were the Holmes pack’s leaders. Sherlock taught John other things, but insisted that John never forget those.

During that first week, John allowed Sherlock to scent as he pleased and allowed Mycroft to as well when they met. As Mycroft became less interested in scenting and being close to him, John began to worry about Sherlock’s continued insistence on both. Even Lestrade picked up on the behavior, going so far as to pull John aside at a crime scene Sherlock was inspecting.

“John, you really need to tell him to back off,” Lestrade said, keeping his voice low enough to not be overheard.

“It’s normal, though, isn’t it? I think he’s going a bit overboard because the full moon’s close,” John replied, trying to brush off the implications.

“He never acted like that around me. When I got my mark, there was maybe a week of creepy sniffing and touching. It’s been two weeks, John. This is going into courting behavior.”

“Sherlock’s never had a real friend before, maybe he’s just-“

“ _John._ ”

“You’re right,” John sighed, rubbing his forehead. “He’s always had this thing about sniffing me and my jumpers, though, so I’m not worried at the moment. What else should I look for? If he gets into other… courting behaviors, I’ll talk to him.”

“He’s already doing them! John, you really need to talk to Sherlock about this. He’s trying to court you and doesn’t even realize it.”

Before the conversation could go further, Sherlock stalked over and announced that he’d solved the crime.

 

Not long after John’s conversation with Lestrade was the first full moon night of the month. John hadn’t talked to Sherlock about his inadvertent courting yet, mostly because he believed it was just Sherlock being Sherlock. He’d never been one to act like a normal anything, so what seemed like romantic interest to others might just be Sherlock trying to be a good friend. Though courtship behaviors had been something he’d left out of John’s lessons, that could be attributed to Sherlock’s habit of forgetting “unimportant” things and having little to no experience with any kind of dating.

Sherlock completely destroyed all of John’s “he’s not trying to court me” theories on their habitual walk that evening. He managed to get his leash out of John’s grip and dashed off with John running after him and shouting. When he finally managed to catch Sherlock, John was presented with a dead squirrel and his friend eagerly wagging his tail while awaiting praise.

“That’s… very nice Sherlock, thanks,” John told him, faking a smile. “Thank you for the… deceased rodent. Please go put it by the tree so we can get home.”

Whining, Sherlock nudged the squirrel closer and gave John puppy eyes.

“No, no, no. We’re not taking it home. I appreciate you hunting for me, but… Oh God, you’re hunting for me. _Shit._ ”

 

Somehow, John managed to get Sherlock to sleep in his pet bed that night. It was ruined, however, when John began tossing and turning in his sleep. Sherlock jumped on the bed and snuggled close to John, nudging and licking his face until John slept peacefully again.

A few hours later, Sherlock trotted to his own bedroom to become human again and put pajamas on. John was having another nightmare when he returned, so Sherlock lifted the blankets and crawled in with John. His original plan had been to just be lazy and flop across the bed, but Sherlock pulled John close and held him until they both fell into a relaxed sleep again instead.

 

John woke up warm and very comfortable. At least, he did until he realized Sherlock was spooning him and snoring softly into his neck.

“ _Sherlock!_ ” he hissed, peeling the other man’s arms away. “Sherlock, get up _now._ ”

Sherlock grumbled and rubbed at his eyes, clearly displeased at being woken up again but stubbornly staying where he was.

“What?” he demanded, sounding like a petulant child.

“Why are you spooning me? You weren’t even allowed on the bed last night!”

“You were having a nightmare, so I got into bed with you. Your nightmares stopped and I must have fallen asleep.”

“You have no idea what you’re doing, do you?”

“I _was_ sleeping.”

Sighing in exasperation, John shifted a bit so he was sitting up and looking at Sherlock.

“Sherlock, you’ve been courting me for weeks and you don’t even realize it. The scenting and touching has gone on at least a week longer than it should, you hunted for me, and you always end up in my bed as a wolf.”

For a moment, John actually managed to make Sherlock speechless. And when he did open his mouth, it was a sound that Molly had described as a “verbal keyboard smash.” John felt quite proud of himself; he’d made the ever loquacious Sherlock Holmes stumble. And that pride only grew when a blush blossomed on Sherlock’s cheeks.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about. I am just welcoming you to the pack.”

“Mycroft assured me that the sniffing and constant touching would last two weeks at the most. Not only are we past that point, you hunted for me last night.”

“I don’t recall hunting for you.”

“You bolted off and brought back a squirrel. When I told you we couldn’t bring it home, you whined and literally walked home with your tail between your legs.”

“I haven’t been _courting_ you, John.”

Instead of replying, John just stared at Sherlock with a raised eyebrow. Sherlock glared at him, though it had no effect at all.

“I am _not_ co-“

Rolling his eyes, John cupped Sherlock’s face and pulled him close. He paused briefly, giving Sherlock an out if he wanted it. When he didn’t take it, John closed the small gap and kissed Sherlock in a manner that could only be described as ‘loving.’ John knew he’d gotten his point across when Sherlock returned the kiss, tilting his head just so and deepening it as he wrapped an arm loosely around John’s neck.

After John broke the kiss, Sherlock inhaled deeply and kept his eyes closed. He looked incredibly relaxed and very much like a cat enjoying a good nap in a sunbeam.

“You’re not courting me?” John asked, running his thumb along Sherlock’s cheekbone.

“Mm, no. I do believe we’ve just crossed the line from ‘courting’ to ‘couple.’”

“We’ll have to tell Mycroft, then, won’t we?”

“Yes, but I say we wait until later. Right now, I do believe I have a new boyfriend to be covering with my scent.”

 

Mycroft, of course, knew without having to be told that Sherlock and John had become a couple. However, pack conventions required them to formally inform the leader anyway. They decided to get it over with quickly, though Sherlock left the actual call itself to John.

“I don’t have to get another tattoo, do I?” John asked as Sherlock flopped across his lap.

“No, any markings are now up to yourself and Sherlock,” Mycroft informed him. “You _do_ have to meet Mummy, though.”

“Immediately?”

“No, not immediately. I will tell her that her precious puppy Sherlock has a boyfriend, but you can wait a bit. Best to wait until after the full moon, really.”

“Am I going to have to drag Sherlock along?”

“I doubt it. He’s a bit of a Mummy’s pup.”

“Wonderful. I suppose I’ll see you in a few days, then.”

 

In the evening, John gave Sherlock a good night kiss while he was still human. Following his change, Sherlock planted himself across John’s lap much as he had that afternoon. They watched the evening news and a few episodes of a science program John liked and Sherlock didn’t hate terribly before going for their walk. As usual, Sherlock marked every tree he could and snarled at squirrels, but was otherwise well-behaved. When they returned home, John gave Sherlock his pig ear to chew on while he got ready for bed, hoping that kept him entertained long enough.

It did, in fact, keep Sherlock sufficiently occupied long enough for John to shower and change. When it came time to get in bed, Sherlock jumped up and settled next to John without hesitation. John smiled and scratched behind his ear before settling in for the night.

 

When John’s alarm went off in the morning, Sherlock was once again holding him close. As much as John would have loved to stay that way, he had to get out of bed and off to work.

“Sherlock, let go. I need to get up.”

Sherlock grumbled in response, scooting closer and burying his nose in John’s neck. Sighing, John rolled in Sherlock’s arms.

“Please let me get up. You can come see me at lunch.”

Sherlock made displeased sounds again, but his grip loosened. John took the opportunity to wriggle out before Sherlock could change his mind. Before he left, John kissed Sherlock’s temple and ruffled his messy curls.

“I’ll see you later, love.”

Sherlock snored in response.

 

Throughout the day, people asked John if something had happened or if he’d changed something about himself. He always said no, though it was plainly obvious that something was different. When John got twitchy around his lunch hour, Sarah finally figured it out.

“It’s Sherlock, isn’t it?” she asked, sitting in one of the patient chairs in John’s office.

“What’s Sherlock?”

“Why you’re happy. You’re happy because of something Sherlock did.”

“In a manner of speaking.”

“Did you two finally get together?”

John was quiet for a moment, simply staring at Sarah as a blush crept up his neck.

“You did! So it’s just been a couple of days then?”

“Yesterday, actually,” John admitted. “He was being an ass, and I kissed him. He hasn’t really left me alone since.”

“I’m sure he’s just excited. You might be his first romantic relationship, though, so maybe he doesn’t know what to do.”

Before John could reply, Sherlock was in the doorway and looking a bit anxious, though obviously happy. John smiled and beckoned him over; surprisingly, Sherlock obeyed and moved to stand beside John. He fidgeted for a moment, looking uncharacteristically uncomfortable.

“Did you want to go out for lunch, Sherlock?” John asked, trying to make everything seem normal for Sherlock’s sake.

“I’d like that. We need to have a talk, and I’d like to spend some time with you.”

“Let’s go, then. I’ll be back in an hour, Sarah.”

 

Sherlock insisted on going to Angelo’s for lunch, citing the fact that Angelo and his staff had long since stopped listening to his conversations. Knowing that their conversation could only be about werewolf business, John agreed.

“We’re going to see Mummy this weekend,” Sherlock said once they’d settled in. “Mycroft called and told me in no uncertain terms that it will be this Saturday.”

“That’s mildly terrifying.”

“She’s harmless, except for on full moon nights. At any rate, there’s a tradition amongst werewolves and their partners I’d like to discuss with you.”

“Does it involve bodily harm?”

“That largely depends on the couple, but in this case it does not.”

“Oh, good.”

“The tradition is to give each other some kind of token or marking to signify the relationship. It can be anything at all, though something of significance is preferred.”

“And you want to exchange these tokens by Saturday?”

“Ideally, I would.”

“Alright, we’ll do it on Friday.”

Sherlock nodded and visibly relaxed. While most people wouldn’t be able to detect it, John was so used to Sherlock’s posture and moods that he recognized the behavior.

“This is the first time you’ve done this, isn’t it?”John asked, reaching across the table to take Sherlock’s hand. “You’ve never been in a relationship.”

“I have not,” Sherlock admitted, squeezing John’s hand. “I do believe I’ve chosen a fantastic partner for my first go, though.”


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HERE BE PORN. Which will be a semi-regular feature from this chapter on. This one is shorter than the last one, because the next chapter is a bit longer and y'all will meet Mummy!
> 
> And, as a special treat, here's a [short comic](http://29.media.tumblr.com/tumblr_m3pxk0iCRR1qc42d8o3_500.jpg) drawn by my wonderful girlfriend between labs.

Sherlock was waiting for John when he got home on Friday afternoon, perched in his chair and staring into space. John headed up to his bedroom to grab his token for Sherlock, pausing to ruffle Sherlock’s dark curls on his way. Hopefully Sherlock would be back to himself in a few minutes, though he had been known to spend hours staring into space and thinking.

As John came back downstairs, Sherlock unfolded his legs and stretched as he settled back into reality. A small box sat on the end table next to his chair, neatly wrapped and yet absolutely terrifying. John sat in his own chair and rested the small velvet bag carrying his token on his lap.

“Is there any special way of going about this or do we just exchange?” he asked, looking uncomfortable.

“No, there is no special way of doing this. I’d like to give you yours first, if you don’t mind.”

“That’s fine.”

Sherlock all but threw the box by his side at John, which told him that whatever was in it wasn’t particularly fragile. Carefully, John peeled the paper away and opened the box. Resting inside on a layer of batting was a cuff in dark brown leather. The lunar cycle had been tooled into the outside, with a howling wolf where the full moon would have been. It neatly straddled the line between everyday wear and something for special occasions, though John was quite sure it was meant to be worn always.

“Sherlock, it’s lovely. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome, John.”

Without another word, John deposited the bag on Sherlock’s lap and waited nervously for him to open it. He was no longer sure that his token was such a good idea. As Sherlock opened the bag and tipped it, John fidgeted in his chair. Sherlock looked genuinely surprised when a small, round piece of metal toppled out into his hand.

“John, this is one of your dog tags. I can’t accept this,” he said, still staring at the tag.

“You bloody well better. The army doesn’t want me back, Sherlock, you can take one.”

Sherlock simply stared at the dog tag again, running his thumb over it and feeling the engravings. That small, innocent looking tag had rested against John’s chest for years and could have been what identified his body. Feeling so much emotion over a small piece of metal baffled him.

When he finally looked up, John had pulled the tag’s mate out of his jumper. The simple fact that John continued to wear the other tag broke the dam. Carefully, Sherlock placed the tag back in the bag and set the bag in the end table. With the bag safe, Sherlock practically launched himself at John and took him by surprise. He settled on John’s lap and kissed him fiercely, initiating their first full-out snog.

John wasted no time, tangling one hand in Sherlock’s curls and gripping his hip with the other. Sherlock opened his mouth immediately and cupped John’s face to encourage the same from him. While it was obvious that Sherlock was inexperienced, he caught on quickly. He also got aroused quickly and began grinding his hips against John’s clumsily.

“Sherlock, calm down,” John mumbled, running his thumb over Sherlock’s cheek. “Do you want to go upstairs?”

Sherlock stilled immediately and buried his face in John’s neck, breathing in his scent and avoiding his eyes.

“I’m not… I’m not ready for intercourse, John,” he admitted.

“It’s alright. Let’s go up anyway, yeah? It’ll be more comfortable on a bed.”

Nodding, Sherlock got off John’s lap and grabbed the velvet bag on his way to the stairs. John followed closely, taking a cue from Sherlock and bringing his box with them. Once they were in John’s room, he locked the door to ensure none of their nosy friends just waltzed in.

“You don’t have a chain for your tag, do you?” John asked, guiding Sherlock to sit on his bed.

“No, I do not. I only wear jewelry as a part of a disguise.”

John moved to his dresser, shifting things around noisily for a moment before pulling out a chain that matched the one he wore. Returning to the bed, he took the tag from Sherlock and looped the chain through the hoop at the top.

“Come here,” John said, tugging Sherlock closer without waiting for a response.

With Sherlock practically in his lap, John placed the chain around his neck and gently closed the clasp. As soon as he heard the click, Sherlock stood to look in the small mirror above John’s dresser.

“It’s lovely,” he whispered, touching the tag and chain reverently.

“Do you want me to put mine on, or do you want to do it?”

“I’ll do it.”

Sherlock knelt in front of John, taking his left hand and clasping the cuff around his wrist. Once it was secure, John pulled Sherlock up into a kiss. As it had downstairs, the kiss became heated quickly. Surprisingly, Sherlock was the one that took things further by pushing John onto his back on the bed. John went with the motion, pulling Sherlock on top of him and continuing the kiss fiercely. Sherlock started to move against him again and had gained a little confidence in the motion, prompting John to roll them over.

Before he could say anything, John began unbuttoning Sherlock’s shirt and kissing every bit of flesh exposed. Sherlock started to protest, but the words quickly became soft moans as John moved lower on his torso. When he reached Sherlock’s belt, John moved away a bit and started working it open.

“I’m willing to bet you’ve never been given a blow job,” he said as the buckle opened. “I’d like to fix that.”

“I have not, and you may,” Sherlock managed, his voice wavering noticeably.

John immediately tugged Sherlock’s trousers down to his knees and began kissing his hipbones. Turning Sherlock into a writhing, moaning mess proved to be very easy, though it could have been that everything was new to him. Regardless, John continued kissing and biting Sherlock’s stomach and hips, leaving little marks all over.

“John, _please_ ,” Sherlock whimpered, squirming as John left a love bite just above his hipbone.

Satisfied that he’d made Sherlock beg, John settled between Sherlock’s legs and looked up at him.

“You can tell me to stop anytime you want, okay?” he said, rubbing slow circles on Sherlock’s thigh.

Sherlock nodded, so John carried on. He placed his left forearm across Sherlock’s lower stomach to keep his hips relatively still and licked Sherlock’s erection from base to tip, earning a shuddering gasp from the detective. Encouraged, John took Sherlock in his mouth slowly, easing them both into the feeling. Sherlock didn’t ask him to stop, so John pulled back a bit, licking his way up.

“John,” Sherlock gasped, running his hand through John’s hair and tugging a bit.

John didn’t mind the tugging and didn’t so much as pause. Relaxing his throat a bit, he moved back down Sherlock’s cock and hummed. Judging by his breathing patterns, Sherlock wasn’t going to last too long, but that didn’t stop John from bobbing his head as he continued to hum. Sherlock’s breathing became erratic and he began mumbling obscenities while his hand dug into John’s scalp.

“ _Please_ ,” he panted, arching his back.

Knowing Sherlock was close to orgasm, John moved off his cock and moved up to kiss him quickly.

“Shh, love,” he mumbled, moving his hand to stroke Sherlock.

The moment John slid his thumb over the tip of his erection, Sherlock tensed up and came hard with a shout. As he relaxed into the mattress, John kissed him again and got off the bed.

“Where… where are you going?” Sherlock asked.

“To get a flannel so I can clean you up. I’ll be right back.”

While John was gone, Sherlock stripped out of his clothes and began digging through John’s dresser for pajamas. He found a nice, cuddly pair of flannel bottoms and decided to borrow one of John’s army shirts. John returned just as he was closing the drawer, raising an eyebrow as he tossed the cloth at Sherlock.

“Stealing my clothes already?” he asked, smirking as Sherlock cleaned himself.

“I’m _borrowing_ some, yes. Did you want me to, ah, return the favor?”

“No, I’m alright. You’re inexperienced and we’ve already pushed it enough today.”

While Sherlock cleaned up and put his borrowed pajamas on, John sat on his bed and waited. 

“So, what am I supposed to call you? I mean, normally I’d go with ‘boyfriend,’ but I think werewolf dating makes it a bit more complicated.”

“If everything goes well with Mummy tomorrow, it will be ‘partner,’” Sherlock told him. “We treat things a good deal more seriously than humans, since an ended relationship could out our species.”

“Yeah, that could be a problem. Anyway, let’s go argue over dinner. You need to eat and then we’re going to bed early. I can’t have your mother thinking I’m not taking care of you,” John said, guiding Sherlock out to the stairs.

Sherlock grumbled and generally complained, but he did as John asked anyway.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> With this chapter, AO3 is caught up! Yaaaay.

As per usual when Sherlock and John shared a bed, they were tangled together in the morning. John woke up first, unable to move away without disturbing Sherlock.

“Sherlock, it’s time to get up,” he mumbled, rubbing his eyes.

Sherlock burrowed into the blankets and made a noise that sounded like “fuck off,” making John smile affectionately. Gently, he shook Sherlock’s shoulder through the duvet.

“Come on, we’ve got to get going. Mycroft will be here soon. I know you don’t care about making Mycroft angry, but your mother wants us to be on time.”

Bringing Mummy into it got Sherlock going, though it was slow at first. He shuffled about the kitchen with his teacup, trying to find the actual sugar bowl while half-asleep. Eventually, John took pity on him and directed Sherlock to the right bowl.

“Do you want breakfast?” John asked as Sherlock settled into his favorite chair.

“I’m sure Mummy’s got a meal planned for us.”

“I’m going to go shower and get dressed, then. Don’t take too long.”

John kissed Sherlock’s temple on his way out of the room, making him hum happily into his tea. On his way back up to his room after his shower, John peered into Sherlock’s room to see if he was at least getting clothes out. He was, surprisingly, though he seemed to be having trouble choosing a shirt. John watched him struggle for a moment before stepping in and choosing the one he personally liked.

“This purple one, love,” he said, holding it up on Sherlock. “Brings out your eyes and makes you look less like a vampire.”

Sherlock stared at him for a moment, actually looking a little confused.

“John, vampires do not exist. I can see why you might think so, given that I am a werewolf, but I assure you-“

Shaking his head, John stretched and kissed Sherlock to shut him up. He patted Sherlock’s cheek as he backed away a little, smiling affectionately.

“I know. It’s an expression, since you’re so pale. Now get cleaned up and dressed.”

As if on cue, Mycroft let himself into the flat just after Sherlock finished putting his shoes on. Sherlock immediately grabbed his coat and scarf with John close behind.

“Good morning,” he said, sounding far too chipper. “We’re expected by ten o’clock, so we need to be going as soon as possible.”

“Mycroft, it’s half-past eight. Surely we don’t need an hour and a half at this time on a Saturday.”

“Mummy lives outside the city, John. I’m not surprised Sherlock never told you. We can discuss it in the car, do hurry downstairs.”

Mycroft disappeared downstairs after giving his marching orders, leaving the two of them to button buttons and tie scarves. Once they were ready, Sherlock held John at arm’s length and locked eyes with him.

“I will not lie, this may be painful for you. Mummy can be just as difficult as I am. If you grow frustrated, don’t say anything and just be handsome.”

“Hold on a moment, I need to go mark the calendar. You just admitted you’re difficult _and_ called me handsome.”

“Mark it later. If we arrive late, Mummy will never approve of you.”

John moved Sherlock’s hands away and moved closer to cup his cheek.

“Relax. I know this is some big werewolf to-do, but it can’t be as bad as you’re telling yourself it will be. She is your mother, she loves you, and she wants you to be happy. I assure you this will not be as difficult as meeting my family. So let’s go get in that car before Mycroft sends sniffer dogs.”

With a laugh, Sherlock leaned down and kissed John quickly.

“Shouldn’t keep the British government waiting,” he said as he took John’s hand and led him down to the car.

 

Within an hour, the car had reached the suburbs and Mycroft deigned to tell John about the Holmes family. Their paternal grandfather had been a baron, though their father had been a second son and hadn’t inherited the title. Their maternal grandmother was French nobility, though she had moved to England during World War I for safety reasons.

“Lycanthropy is very common in noble families, because of generations of intermarriage. Many royal families are werewolves,” Mycroft explained as yards became larger. “ _Our_ royal family, for instance.”

“The… The Queen’s a werewolf?” John asked, clearly shocked.

“Yes, Queen Elizabeth is a werewolf. It’s Prince Harry that’s a bit of a problem, though ginger wolves are fairly easy to find.”

When John simply gaped at him, Mycroft rolled his eyes and continued his history lesson. As Mycroft continued on, John noticed Sherlock shifting in his seat and looking uncomfortable. He reached over to take his hand quietly and squeezed, letting Sherlock know he was there and everything was fine.

“Sherlock, why don’t _you_ tell me about your mum? Did you have nannies?”

“No, actually,” Sherlock replied. “Mummy insisted on raising the two of us herself. We only had nannies when she and Father went away, and that was only when Mycroft couldn’t take care of me. She has more staff now that she’s older and living alone.”

“That sounds… surprisingly normal.”

“For a family of werewolves.”

Sherlock smiled softly, looking truly amused and happy. John kissed him quickly as they pulled into the drive, prompting a disgusted sound from Mycroft.

“I can feel the cavities forming in my teeth already,” he grumbled.

“Are you sure it isn’t from all those sweets hidden in your desk?” Sherlock teased, unable to resist an easy dig.

 

Mummy Holmes was smaller than John had expected. Even though her sons were easily six feet tall, she was an inch or two shorter than John. Surprisingly, she didn’t look much older than John’s own parents, though the Holmes family didn’t seem to age quite like other people. The only indication of her age was her hair; clearly once the same pitch black as Sherlock’s, her long curls were now mostly gray.

“You must be John!” she exclaimed as soon as they walked into the foyer. “It’s lovely to meet you, dear. Mycroft feels he needs to tell me all about you, but it’s not quite the same as meeting you myself.”

“It’s nice to meet you, too, Mrs. Holmes,” John said, unable to keep from smiling.

“Call me Mummy,” she replied, hugging him tight before he could protest. “Oh, I’m just so pleased my little Sherlock finally found someone.”

“Mummy, can you please not-“

“Sherlock, my little puppy,” Mrs. Holmes cooed, moving over to pinch his cheeks. “You’ve gained weight, dear. John must be taking care of you.”

Sherlock actually blushed and stuttered a little, something John never thought he’d see outside of the flat. His mother simply tapped her cheek, prompting him to lean down and kiss her cheek. She then moved to Mycroft and prompted the same greeting before hugging him as well.

“And you’ve lost weight! Oh, my boys are doing so well. Come on, out to the garden for breakfast.”

Without waiting for a response, Mrs. Holmes walked off, leading them out a backdoor and into a large, lush garden. On the deck was a table absolutely covered in various fruits and four plates piled with waffles.

“John, you and Sherlock sit over here. Mycroft and I will sit on the other side.”

“Mrs. – Mummy, did you cook all this?” John asked as they took their seats.

“I had some help,” she admitted. “The boys insisted on hiring a cook, and she helped me get everything together.”

Once everyone was settled in and eating, Mrs. Holmes began the interrogation.

“So, John, tell me about yourself,” she said, smiling in a way that threatened violence if he lied. “Mycroft has so much information on you, but I’d like to hear it from you.”

“There isn’t really a lot to tell,” John replied, shrugging as he snuck more fruit onto Sherlock’s plate. “I have a sister named Harry. Both of my parents are living but they’re divorced and I haven’t seen my dad in years. I studied at St. Bart’s before I joined the army. I was on my fifth tour when I got shot in the shoulder. And then I met Sherlock.”

“How long have you known you were bisexual?” Mrs. Holmes asked, making it obvious where her sons got their straight to the point nature.

“During A-levels,” John told her, so used to Sherlock’s habit of deducing that he didn’t ask how she knew. “After Harry came out, bringing home a boyfriend wasn’t really a big deal. I can count the number of men I’ve dated on my hands, though.”

“You have higher standards for men.”

“Yeah, generally.”

“How did you end up dating Sherlock, then?” Mycroft teased, clearly looking to get Sherlock back for his earlier slight.

“Mycroft!” Mrs. Holmes scolded. “Your brother is a fine young werewolf. Apologize.”

“Mummy, we’re not children.”

“Mycroft Holmes, apologize to your brother. And Sherlock, clearly you’ve done something to upset him, so you apologize as well.”

Grudgingly, they both apologized, though it was clear neither of them really meant it. Mrs. Holmes knew it was the best she’d get out of them, however, and resumed interrogating John.

“You haven’t had sex yet,” she stated, putting the conversation back on-track.

John nearly choked on a piece of melon, having thought it was safe to continue eating. He knew the Holmes family didn’t sugar coat anything, but he wished they’d learn that sometimes it helped.

“No, not yet. Sherlock isn’t ready and wants to wait, so we are,” John told her once he recovered. “I don’t know the pack conventions, either.”

“It would have been fine if you had.”

“Well, I didn’t want to do something that was offensive to the pack, and Sherlock asked to wait anyway.”

The way Mrs. Holmes smiled at him reminded John entirely too much of her son.

 

After breakfast, Sherlock took John on a tour of the house and grounds while Mycroft and Mummy talked. The house itself was a huge Tudor Revival affair, bigger than any family of four needed even with staff. The room that Sherlock had grown up in had deep blue walls with white wainscoting on the bottom third. Mummy had kept the furniture as Sherlock had left it as a teenager, from the scientific posters to the stuffed bookshelf. Upon spotting the large bed, John grinned and dragged Sherlock over to sit on it.

“Did you ever snog anyone on this bed?” he asked, spreading out on the duvet.

“No,” Sherlock said as he curled up around John. “We should at least kiss to mark the occasion.”

John hummed in agreement and shifted so he could kiss Sherlock. They kissed languidly, mostly just enjoying each other’s company. Sherlock tangled his legs with John’s, absently rubbing his foot against John’s calf as they kissed while John wound Sherlock’s curls around his hand, using his hair to keep him close. It was relaxed and gentle without being sexual, which Sherlock greatly appreciated. Eventually, they were interrupted by a knock on the door.

“Sherlock, your mum wants to talk to you,” a soft voice said from the other side.

“We’ll be right down,” Sherlock replied as he untangled himself from John.

“Who was that?”

“That was Mummy’s assistant, Elizabeth. No, it isn’t a polite term for maid.”

Nodding, John fixed his clothes where Sherlock had rumpled them and started for the door. Sherlock followed, fixing his shirt as they went. Mummy and Mycroft were waiting for them in the sitting room reserved for family with tea and matching knowing smirks.

“Sit down, loves,” Mrs. Holmes said, indicating the two teacups sitting untouched.

Sherlock obeyed immediately, proving John’s theory that only his mother could get him to do something on the first try. John settled in next to him and carefully picked up the teacup in front of him.

“Mycroft and I have discussed the situation,” Mrs. Holmes told them, clearly trying to keep from looking too happy. “We wholeheartedly approve of this relationship. Mycroft has approved of John for quite some time, actually, but I insisted on a meeting.”

“Is that why he sends cars and kidnaps me instead of calling?” John deadpanned.

“It’s a sign of affection,” Sherlock joked as he lifted his teacup. His smirk around the cup’s rim was infectious, causing John to smile in return.

“You must visit more often, though,” Mummy continued. “Sherlock doesn’t visit nearly enough and I want to get to know John better, especially if you two are going to be married one day.”

John nearly choked on his tea and set his cup down quickly.

“We haven’t discussed marriage. It’s a bit early,” he said. “I mean, it’s not off the table…”

Mummy responded by raising her eyebrows and calmly sipping her tea as if she knew something he didn’t. Considering she was Sherlock and Mycroft’s mother, it was entirely likely that she did. After the four of them finished their tea, Sherlock stood and cleared his throat.

“It’s been lovely, Mummy, but we really must be going now,” he told her, moving to hug his mother. “We’ll visit soon.”

Satisfied, Mrs. Holmes hugged her youngest son and turned to John with her arms open. John hesitated a moment before hugging her, still a little afraid of the small woman.

“Don’t be strangers, either of you. I expect more frequent visits and a request for my son’s hand in marriage. Oh, and word of his deflowering!”

John turned bright red and stumbled over his good-byes as Sherlock led him out of the house with a smirk on his face.

“You know, I’m beginning to think I might be ready for that ‘deflowering’ sooner rather than later,” he mumbled in John’s ear, making sure to get his voice very low. “Not tonight, of course, but soon.”

“You’re going to be the death of me.”


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THE INTERNET IS FOR PORN, THE INTERNET IS FOR PORN. AND MY GIRLFRIEND HELPING ME ALONG.
> 
> Also, y'all please let me know if you see typos. I won't get mad, I'll just go fix them.

After their visit with Mummy, Sherlock moved into John’s room and made it their room. What had been Sherlock’s bedroom became his lab, which cleared up the kitchen and made John very happy indeed. Sherlock had also started sleeping more regularly now that he shared a bed with John. It led to both of them being in a generally better mood and an increase in Sherlock’s focus. John’s only complaint was that Sherlock was very keen on cuddling when he was asleep; many mornings found Sherlock wrapped around his companion like a large octopus and snoring into his neck. The cuddles were actually quite adorable, though only until John needed to get out of bed and Sherlock would have none of it.

“Sherlock, let me out of bed,” John grumbled.

“You don’t have a shift at the surgery. No.”

“I need to go to the loo. Let me up.”

“No.”

“I’ll come right back to bed, now let me up.”

Sighing, Sherlock finally gave up and peeled himself off of John. John slid out of bed and hurried downstairs, leaving Sherlock to his own devices against his better judgment. To be fair, however, John did not expect to come back upstairs to find what he did.

In the few minutes John had been away, Sherlock had stripped his pajamas off and settled on John’s side of the bed with just enough skin peeking out of the sheets to tease. When he noticed John come back in, Sherlock perked up and moved the sheet even lower.

“John, it’s been two weeks since our last physical contact other than cuddling. I would appreciate you showing me more sexual activities,” he said, as if he wasn’t already naked and waiting.

“Ah… Yeah, alright. We’re brushing our teeth first, though.”

Sherlock was out of bed with the kind of speed usually reserved for a case, hurrying down to the bathroom with John several steps behind. They both brushed thoroughly and casually, as if Sherlock wasn’t naked and there wasn’t the promise of oral sex once back in their bedroom. If he wasn’t so sure laughter would put an end to Sherlock’s amorous mood, John would have chuckled over just how domestic and normal they could be.

As soon as John was satisfied with his level of hygiene, Sherlock hurried back to bed. John was sure the only thing keeping him from running was his dignity. Once they were back in their bedroom, John locked the door behind himself as Sherlock spread himself out on top of the sheets.

John certainly liked the sight of Sherlock spread out on their bed, ready and waiting for him. Walking toward the bed, John began stripping off his pajamas before stretching out on the bed next to Sherlock and pulling him close.

“Did you have something in mind for this morning?” John asked, rubbing circles on Sherlock’s hip with his thumb. “I could give you another blow job, if you like.”

“Thank you for the offer, however, I would like to give _you_ one.”

“Are you sure?”

“Absolutely certain.”

“Take your time. I won’t get angry if you stop.”

Nodding, Sherlock rolled on top of John and kissed him languidly. The kiss was almost lazy, but no less passionate or heated. Sherlock nudged John’s legs open gently before settling between them, enjoying the closeness as he began moving kisses from John’s mouth across his jaw and down his throat.

“Wonderful start, love,” John mumbled, running his hand through Sherlock’s curls. “You can bite a little if you like.”

Sherlock hummed against John’s neck to let him know he’d heard, though he waited until he reached John’s collarbone to nip. Though he would have loved to leave a mark above the collar, Sherlock knew John would complain and instead worked on a hickey just below John’s collarbone. Gasping in pleasure, John shifted under Sherlock as he bit and sucked at the skin and created a bruise that would linger for weeks.

“Sh-Sherlock, you need to stop if you want to blow me.”

With a huff, Sherlock continued kissing a trail down John’s body until he came to the hair on John’s lower stomach. At that point, Sherlock skipped over the area John so desperately wanted him to pay attention to in favor of kissing and biting John’s inner thigh. John knew he’d created a monster at that point and accepted it, knowing how stubborn Sherlock could be. He tried to relax against the pillows and ran his hands through Sherlock’s curls, hoping to urge him on quickly.

Once he was satisfied with the number and intensity of the marks on John’s thighs, Sherlock briefly moved to lie on top of John and kiss him.

“You trust me to do this?” he asked, shifting just-so on top of John. “It may not be very pleasurable, as this is my first attempt.”

“It’s alright. You have to learn somehow.”

Nodding, Sherlock slithered back down John’s body and got comfortable between his legs. He seemed to be hesitating a bit, breathing as if to calm himself as he slowly stroked John’s erection.

“Love, you don’t have to- Oh dear God.”

Sherlock finally gathered his courage and slipped his mouth over the head of John’s penis, running his tongue along the slit slowly. Gasping, John tangled his hands in Sherlock’s hair again and bit his lip to keep from shouting.

“You don’t… You don’t have to take it all in,” John panted, tugging on the inky curls to keep Sherlock’s attention.

Again, Sherlock hummed to acknowledge John. This time, however, it earned him a moan and a shift in John’s hips. Sherlock wanted more of those sounds, so he hummed again as he took more of John in his mouth. The tugging on his hair got more insistent, though Sherlock didn’t really mind.

“Christ, your first time and it’s a hummer.”

Ignoring John’s comments, Sherlock pulled back a bit and focused on the tip of John’s cock for a bit. He swept his tongue around the ridge slowly, making a show of the way his tongue moved. Following that, Sherlock lapped at the precum quickly beading up, making John whimper and writhe.

“Holy fuck, how did you learn this?”

Sherlock responded by sliding down on John’s cock again, taking in a little bit more than the last time. What he couldn’t take in he stroked lazily, provoking another moan from John and a sharp tug on his hair.

“Sh-Sherlock… Move, I’m close.”

Humming one last time, Sherlock moved away and continued to leisurely jerk John off. He shifted a little to nibble at John’s thigh again, cataloguing the sounds John made as he bit and sucked. It took a bit longer, but Sherlock knew as well as John did that he wasn’t ready for anyone to come in his mouth.

Sherlock was about to go back to running his tongue along John’s erection when a sharp nip to his inner thigh finished things. John moaned loudly into his fist and dug his heels into the mattress as he came, making Sherlock grin like the cat that caught the canary.

“Really, where did you learn that?” John asked breathlessly as he relaxed.

“I did a bit of research,” Sherlock said, stretching out next to his partner.

“You watched porn, didn’t you?”

“I did watch some, yes. Clearly, it was worth it.”

“Mm, it really was. Now come here and let me return the favor.”

Sherlock’s smile as John pulled him close would have put the Cheshire Cat to shame.

 

The next full moon was about a week later, marking John and Sherlock’s first full cycle as a couple. They spent the first night at home on the sofa, curled up together and enjoying the breeze from the open window. Just before bed, Sherlock placed his muzzle on the windowsill and snuffled sadly.

“We’ll go to the park tomorrow, love,” John promised, ruffling his fur. “I don’t have a shift, so I won’t be as worn out then. Let’s get to bed, yeah?”

Sherlock snuffled again but followed John up to bed anyway. As John settled in, Sherlock dragged a jumper from the hamper up onto the bed. He waited until John had relaxed, then stretched out so his head rested on John’s stomach and fell asleep.

 

As promised, John took Sherlock to the park the next evening. He brought Sherlock’s favorite ball and a water bottle, knowing that Sherlock would want to play. They hadn’t gone very far into the park, however, when Sherlock caught a scent and tugged John in the direction of the football fields. He’d learned not to run or get his leash out of John’s hands, but that didn’t mean Sherlock wasn’t going to tug John around when he wanted to go a specific way. When Sherlock found the person he had been looking for, he promptly sat and wagged his tail furiously.

“Hello, Sherlock, John,” Lestrade said, bending to pet his friend. “Didn’t expect to see you here.”

Sherlock yipped in response while John greeted Lestrade, wagging his tail and leaning against Lestrade as his ears were scratched. On the other side of Lestrade, something made a soft noise and made the wolf’s ears perk up as his head tilted quizzically.

“Oh, right, you two haven’t met Jack yet, have you?”

Lestrade bent and picked up a baby carrier Sherlock hadn’t noticed, moving the blankets to reveal an infant bundled against the remaining chill in the air. The baby yawned and blinked up at John, who cooed and gently pinched his cheek.

“Sherlock, this is Jack, my youngest. I’ll set the carrier back down so you can sniff all you like.”

As soon as Lestrade set the baby carrier in front of him, Sherlock was flat on his belly, sniffing and watching the baby in turns. Jack didn’t seem to mind and quickly fell asleep again while Sherlock inspected him.

“Are things with the wife still rocky?” John asked, watching Sherlock and Jack with a fond smile on his face.

“Unfortunately, but the kids are doing well.”

“How old is Jack now?”

“He’s about eight months. I thought we’d patched everything up until he was about five months, and then things went downhill again.”

John nodded sympathetically, knowing that place all too well. Before he could offer condolences, however, the other children came running back from a nearby playground and gathered around their father.

“Daddy is Peter’s game over yet?” asked one of the girls, tugging on Lestrade’s sleeve. “I want to go home.”

“Almost, Wendy,” he replied, ruffling her dishwater blonde pigtails. “Have you met John? He’s Sherlock’s partner, you know.”

“Hullo,” Wendy said shyly.

“Hello, Wendy. Why don’t you introduce me to your siblings?” John prompted, kneeling to get on her level.

“Um, this is Moira,” she mumbled, pulling her sister close. “She’s four. And that’s James, he’s three. I’m five.”

“That’s lovely. I’m John, and I’m a doctor. I live with your daddy’s friend, Sherlock.”

“Are you Uncle Sherlock’s boyfriend?” Moira chirped, her eyes going wide. “Daddy says you are.”

“Yeah, I’m his boyfriend,” John told her, laughing a little. “He’s a lot of trouble sometimes, but I… I care about him.”

John glanced over at Sherlock, whose tail was now a blur and absolutely assaulting the grass around it. He was still scenting Jack, but John knew he’d heard.

“You know, I think I have an idea,” John said, pulling Sherlock’s tennis ball out of his pocket. “Why don’t you three take this fluffy beast and play fetch?”

The children seemed to notice Sherlock for the first time then, their eyes going wide as they did. Lestrade nudged them closer to let them know it was alright to pet and play with him. Without hesitation, the three ran over to pet and scratch Sherlock. It didn’t take long before he had rolled onto his back for belly rubs in a surprising show of submission that didn’t go unnoticed.

“Go on, throw the ball for him,” Lestrade told James, holding out the tennis ball. “He loves that.”

James tossed it, and Sherlock darted after the ball even though it didn’t go very far. He trotted back and dropped it at the little boy’s feet, waiting eagerly for it to be thrown again. This time after the ball was thrown, the children went running off with Sherlock, squealing with joy as they played.

 

When John and Sherlock finally said good-bye and headed back to Baker Street, Sherlock looked exhausted but happy. He’d played with Lestrade’s children until their brother’s football game was over before promptly flopping at John’s feet. John filled his water dish as soon as they got home and headed off to shower before bed. When John went upstairs after his shower, Sherlock was already asleep, snuggled up with his face in a jumper and snoring softly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Anyone notice a theme with Lestrade's children's names? Anyone?


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You may have noticed that I added a tag! In this chapter, Sherlock talks pretty frankly about his drug use. If that bothers you, please be aware of it. However, the rest of the chapter should be fine.
> 
> Once again, let me direct your attention to [something my girlfriend drew.](http://25.media.tumblr.com/tumblr_m4fblsPSXh1qc42d8o1_1280.jpg) She gently prods me along by letting me bounce ideas off her and then draws cute things. <3
> 
> Also, at least check, this story has 6200+ hits. And that's super rad, because a week ago that cuteness was drawn to celebrate 5k. You guys are awesome.
> 
> Finally, as per usual, if you find an error, let me know. I read and re-read and re-re-read, but sometimes mistakes just get through.

Summer in London wasn’t terribly hot, but just warm enough for most people to leave their jackets and jumpers at home. ‘Most people’ did not include Sherlock Holmes. Even in the summer heat he wore suit jackets and button-up shirts, though those were now short-sleeved. John said nothing, assuming it was Sherlock’s attempt to appear professional even though that went out the window the moment his mouth opened. Lestrade offered no comment, though Anderson and Donovan pointed it out frequently.

“Do you not feel the difference in temperature, Freak?” Donovan asked at a crime scene during a heat wave.

“Unlike certain police officers, I prefer to look professional,” Sherlock replied. “Now, if Anderson is no longer under your skirt, you could help preserve the scene. And John would appreciate it if you didn’t insult me in front of him.”

Sherlock smirked as he led John through the police tape and offered his hand, squeezing it as they tromped up the stairs to the murder scene.

 

Not long after, however, Sherlock came back from The Yard looking ready to drop in the doorway. He was dripping sweat and flushed, putting John into doctor mode immediately.

“Sherlock, take everything but your pants off and sit by the fan,” he ordered gently, helping Sherlock out of his jacket. “You’ve got some kind of heat sickness; we need to cool you down.”

Sherlock did as he was told for once, which told John that he was definitely very sick. Once Sherlock was nearly naked and seated in his chair, John pointed the fan at him and turned it on the highest setting. He then hurried off to get the thermometer, which he immediately cleaned and shoved in Sherlock’s mouth.

“Oh, thank God,” he sighed when it beeped. “Less than forty degrees. You don’t need to go to the hospital, but this is serious. I’m going to get you a big glass of ice water, and you will drink it slowly. While you’re doing that, I’m going to go get some sports drinks to keep your sodium levels up. Okay?”

John didn’t wait for a reply, rushing off to the kitchen instead. After getting Sherlock to drink some of the ice water he brought out, John brushed Sherlock’s sweaty fringe back and kissed his forehead.

“I will be right back. Keep drinking your water and stay right here. I’ll send Mrs. Hudson up to make sure you do that and in case you get worse.”

John was gone and back in record time, though Mrs. Hudson had managed to get Sherlock to drink most of his water by then. Sherlock’s temperature had gone down a bit as well, which made John relax just a tiny bit.

“Thank you, Mrs. Hudson. I’ll let you know how he’s doing, but right now I’m going to make him shower,” John said, leading their landlady to the door.

“Anytime, dear,” she replied and patted his arm. “You just take care of him, now. He’s lucky to have someone like you.”

As promised, John herded Sherlock into the shower after seeing Mrs. Hudson out. He made sure the water was just the right temperature before helping Sherlock in. He then put the lid on the toilet down, and sat there to make sure Sherlock didn’t pass out in the shower.

“Why do you have to wear a suit jacket even in the summer? You can still be professional while wearing something lighter.”

Sherlock didn’t answer for a moment. John was ready to ask again when he finally spoke up.

“I don’t want anyone seeing the scars on my arms,” he said quietly. “I don’t mind if it’s someone I’m close to, but the general public…”

John watched him rub the crook of his left elbow through the shower curtain, not sure what to say to that. He’d seen the pin-prick scars littered along Sherlock’s arms; they weren’t glaringly obvious, though if a person knew what to look for or got a good look, it wasn’t hard to tell what had caused them.

“There are more ways to cover them up, Sherlock. And, frankly, they’re not that obvious unless you get close enough. You tromp around the flat in my T-shirts and I don’t see them unless you get close or the sunlight hits just right.”

“Hold on a moment,” Sherlock mumbled. “I’d prefer to have this conversation face-to-face.”

Sherlock changed the water flow to fill the tub instead, then pulled the curtain back and moved it out of the tub. John checked the water temperature again, just to be sure it was suitable for cooling but not freezing.

“It’s not really adults seeing them that worries me,” Sherlock continued with a sigh. “About a year after I met Lestrade, Mycroft asked him if I could stay with him during the full moon. He said it was fine, so long as I didn’t bring drugs into his house. Peter was a toddler and Wendy was a newborn at this time, so I understood and got high before going over.”

John shifted uncomfortably as he watched Sherlock telling the story. He didn’t like where this was going.

“I frightened Peter a bit sometimes, and Lestrade would usually order me to the guest room until I came down or became a wolf. Apparently I’ve always been more agreeable as a wolf, so I was allowed back out then. At any rate, Lestrade eventually started to check in on me at home between cases. I thought I had gotten good at predicting his visits, but… One day he turned up with Wendy. She had always loved seeing me, and he’d just picked her up from nursery school.”

“Sherlock, you didn’t…”

“She was so excited she ran up the stairs ahead of Lestrade and opened the door. She was only three; she hadn’t quite gotten the hang of knocking before entering. Unfortunately, that meant she walked right in at precisely the wrong time and witnessed me shooting up. I’ll never forget the look on her face or Lestrade shouting at me… I went to rehab the next day and have been sober ever since, save a few slips.”

“It was _Wendy_ that got you sober?”

“Essentially, yes. I’ve been working to make it up to her since. She seems to have forgiven me or forgotten by now, though.”

The room grew quiet after that, with John still soaking in what he’d heard and Sherlock resting in the water. Sherlock would add a little more water every now and then to keep the bath cool, touching his arms self-consciously when he thought John couldn’t see.

“John, I think I have cooled down considerably. Could you check?”

Nodding, John got up and fetched the thermometer, which promptly went in Sherlock’s mouth.

“Almost normal, love,” John said, looking amazingly relieved.

“Should I stay in the bath or do you want me to get out?”

“You should get out. Dry off and put on a clean pair of pants, nothing else. Once you’ve done that, go sit in your chair with the fan again. I’m going to go call Sarah and take tomorrow off to keep an eye on you.”

John kissed Sherlock’s forehead again before leaving the room, trusting him to do as told. Surprisingly, Sherlock did.

 

Sherlock actually slept later than John the next day. He sprawled out on top of the sheets and snored into John’s pillow after its owner got out of bed. There had been no cuddling the night before, as Sherlock was still recovering from his heat illness and John forbade it. Instead, Sherlock had slept on top of the sheets in his dressing gown while John curled up under the sheets.

When Sherlock finally dragged himself out of bed, John was in his usual chair with the paper. Breakfast had been left on the table for him with a stack of files next to the teacup.

“John, what is this?”

“Breakfast,” John replied, completely deadpan. “You’re recovering from an illness, at least _try_ to eat like a normal person today.”

“No, the files next to the breakfast.”

“Just some cold cases Lestrade had for you. I stopped at the Met when I went to get milk this morning. You’re not allowed out of the flat today, so I thought I should get you something to keep you occupied. Sit in front of the fan after you finish your breakfast.”

Sherlock stared at the stack on the table for a moment before moving to crouch beside John’s chair. Hesitantly, he leaned in to peck John’s cheek.

“Thank you,” he mumbled. “For the files, and for yesterday. I will endeavor to find a solution to my anxiety regarding my scars that will not cause me to become ill.”

“You’re welcome, love. Now go eat.”

 

Around lunchtime, Sherlock grew restless. He still had cold case files to paw through, but he didn’t appear interested in them any longer. Sighing, John looked up from the blog post he’d been working on and watched Sherlock shift in his chair anxiously.

“What is it?” he asked, hoping Sherlock didn’t ask to leave.

“ _Bored_ ,” Sherlock replied.

John’s stomach dropped. If Sherlock grew bored and didn’t find something to interest him quickly, it often led to destruction. Then again, there were also new ways for him to keep Sherlock occupied…

“Right, go upstairs, then,” John ordered. “Go upstairs and strip. I’ll be up in a moment with the thermometer.”

When Sherlock started to protest that he didn’t feel ill or overly warm, John raised his eyebrows and pointed to their bedroom. Sighing, Sherlock went with a dramatic flair of his dressing gown. John waited a moment to give Sherlock time to get undressed and cleaned the thermometer before following his partner up the stairs. As instructed, Sherlock was naked on their bed and waiting impatiently. He scowled as John shoved the thermometer in his mouth.

“If your temperature is normal, you won’t be scowling in a moment,” John promised, kissing Sherlock’s forehead.

Just to spite him, Sherlock continued to scowl as the thermometer beeped and John inspected it.

“You’re back to normal, love. Move to the middle of the bed and put a pillow under your head.”

Sherlock didn’t listen at first, but he hurried to obey when John started to undress. Once his clothes were off, John climbed onto the bed and settled on Sherlock’s hips.

“I think you need a lesson in just how beautiful your body is, Sherlock.”

Before Sherlock could respond, John was kissing him and running a hand down Sherlock’s rib cage with the lightest of touches. John could feel the muscles there shift as Sherlock gasped into the kiss. He took the opportunity to slip his tongue into Sherlock’s mouth, turning the gasps into soft moans. Just as Sherlock started to get needy, John broke the kiss and nibbled along his jaw and down his neck, leaving small marks. Sherlock expected John to move down his chest, but he kissed and nipped Sherlock’s pale shoulders instead.

As John moved slowly down Sherlock’s arm, his hand ghosted over Sherlock’s side, dipping down to his hips before traveling back up again. It kept Sherlock from having a panic attack, though he almost yanked his arm away when John’s lips first touched one of his scars. John persisted, however, leaving feather-light kisses over the pin-prick scars and faint lines. They’d faded a bit in the time he’d been sober, but still stood out.

Once he was satisfied with the amount of affection spent on Sherlock’s scars, John moved further down to his forearm and nipped. Sherlock gasped as John started sucking lightly at the skin on his arm, though those gasps soon became soft moans as a hickey was formed. John turned it into a love-bite at the last moment with a soft bite to the mark before moving to kiss Sherlock’s lips again.

“Do you feel better about your scars yet?” John asked between kisses.

“I am beginning to.”

Grinning, John kissed Sherlock once more before relocating to his other arm and slowly kissing a trail down it. He made sure to kiss every mark on Sherlock’s skin, whether it was a freckle or a scar. This time when he reached Sherlock’s wrist, John placed a soft kiss on the inside, directly over his pulse.

“Sherlock?”

“Yes, John?”

“I love you,” John mumbled into Sherlock’s wrist.

Sherlock was quiet for a moment before smiling slowly and pulling John up to kiss him again.

“I love you, too.”


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope y'all are able to read this okay, given the recent bout of 502 errors! Please try to find a low-traffic time!
> 
> At any rate, this is the chapter with the denning! Finally! I expect one more chapter after this one, in which I will wrap things up a bit. More on that in the next chapter's notes.
> 
> For this chapter, I did more research than was probably necessary. [Here](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/British_Army_Uniform) you'll find the Wiki article on the British army's uniform, in case you were curious. [This video](http://youtu.be/LPKmafH-gqI) is of an American soldier folding his sleeves, though British soldiers do that as well. (You'll find a nice photo under the No. 5 section at that Wiki link!) I imagine John being the type to iron between folds if he can. [ Here](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Royal_Army_Medical_Corps) is the article on the RAMC, including their cap badge right at the top right. And I must thank that lovely girlfriend you hear so much about again, because the sleeve thing was her idea. <3
> 
> Finally, art! [This lovely piece](http://sherlockbbc-fic.livejournal.com/16422.html?thread=95694886#t95694886) was a second fill on the LJ kink meme. It's friggin adorable.

John got an idea for a solution to Sherlock’s overheating issues while hanging clothes in their closet. He nudged his RAMC uniform while putting away a pair of trousers and noticed that the sleeves were still rolled, just as he’d left them the last time the uniform had been worn. Once everything was in its proper place, he took the uniform out and laid it on the bed.

“Sherlock!” he called. “Bring the iron and get up here!”

Just as he was about to call again, John heard Sherlock tromping up the stairs and the iron’s cord clattering after him.

“Yes, John?”

“I think I have a solution for your jackets. Grab the one you wear the most and bring it here,” John said as he unfolded his uniform sleeves.

Sherlock did as instructed and brought over his favorite suit jacket, laying it next to John’s uniform. As John unfolded the last cuff, Sherlock plugged in the iron to let it heat up.

“Right. When we were in Afghanistan, we’d roll up our sleeves when we had to wear our No. 5 jackets,” John explained. “It was ridiculously hot but we still had to wear the damn thing. It’ll look a little different on a suit jacket, but I think this could work for you.”

While the iron warmed, John slowly walked Sherlock through rolling up a sleeve for the first time. He caught on quickly, of course, and made the folds look as if they’d been sewn that way. As soon as the iron was hot enough, John showed him how to iron the creases down so they were less obvious and more comfortable.

“Try it on and make sure you feel comfortable. You might have to move the cuffs around a little but that’s normal,” John told him as Sherlock finished his last crease.

“Put yours on?” Sherlock asked.

“Alright.”

They shrugged into their respective jackets together, adjusting the rolled sleeves as necessary before buttoning them up. Once he saw John with part his uniform on, Sherlock nearly pounced. It suited him very, very well.

“It looks good, love,” John said, tugging on Sherlock’s sleeve. “Some of the men rolled their sleeves higher, but this works for your purposes.”

“It does,” Sherlock agreed, looking at himself in the mirror. “Thank you, kitten.”

John paused as a look of utter terror settled on Sherlock’s face and what little color it had drained.

“What did you just say?”

“Thank you.”

“After that?”

“… Kitten. Are you offended?”

“Honestly, a little bit, but mostly shocked that you used a pet name.”

“You call me ‘love’ frequently so I assumed I should have something to call you.”

“It’s not required. But if you want to, go ahead.”

Smirking, Sherlock wrapped his arm around John’s waist and pulled him close.

“Well, then, kitten, I believe I have a former captain to be stripping.”

 

Somewhere in England, in a government building, Mycroft Holmes’ cell phone chimed twice. The screen displayed a message reading “SHERLOCK USED A PET NAME.” Sighing, Mycroft put the phone back in his pocket and rubbed his temples.

“He’s going to start denning soon.”

 

True to Mycroft’s prediction, Sherlock began to den shortly after that. The first items to go missing were John’s uniform shirts. Sherlock had taken to wearing them as pajamas, so their disappearance wasn’t noticed. Their new home was a pile in the corner of Sherlock’s lab. Said pile became Sherlock’s favorite place to think, though he often simply rolled in the shirts and stuffed his face in the fabric. He knew exactly what he was doing and what it implied, but he couldn’t stop. Every attempt to put things back where they belonged was thwarted within half an hour, when Sherlock would get jittery and anxious before rebuilding the small den and burrowing into it.

The shirts were followed by John’s jumpers. As it was still summer, he hadn’t been wearing them and their disappearance went unnoticed as well. Sherlock used them to extend the den, making it truly a fabric fort to have a proper burrow in. By that point he had given up on stopping the behavior and accepted what it would mean. He could only hope that John would accept it as well.

A few days before the full moon, the den migrated. When John was out of the flat, Sherlock moved the collection to under their bed. He could no longer stand to be away from it when he slept and shoved the whole thing under his side of the bed. After its move, however, Sherlock began adding to the den pile. He added the shock blanket from their first case together, John’s No. 5 uniform, several of his own shirts, the Union Jack pillow from John’s chair, and finished it off with his own coat and scarf. All that was needed now was John.

 

On the first day of the full moon, Sherlock patiently waited until John had left for work before hurrying upstairs and moving his den parts to the bed. He carefully arranged the pieces to make it as appealing as possible. While he knew that this was a primal, wolf thing to do, Sherlock couldn’t stop himself from making a den that would make John want to be his forever. Never mind that John wasn’t a werewolf, Sherlock had to prove he was a worthy mate.

Once the den was to Sherlock’s liking, he started cleaning the flat. He felt a desperate need to prove to John that he was worthy of keeping, even though they had only been dating for a few months. Perhaps it was the fact that they’d been living together for longer than they’d been dating, something that was rare in a werewolf relationship. Still, he knew this was quick and sudden. And that he couldn’t stop the process no matter how hard he tried.

 

John came home to a spotless - Sherlock had even filed his papers and put them in his lab! - flat and the scent of something cooking. He suspected Sherlock had finally gone insane. Or he was actually starting to listen when John asked him to do those things. He wasn’t sure which of those was the more horrifying possibility.

“Sherlock?” John called as he took his shoes off. “I’m home, love.”

“In the kitchen, John.”

Bracing himself for what he might find, John headed into the kitchen. Instead of some ridiculous experiment, Sherlock was obviously making dinner. The flat was clean, Sherlock was cooking dinner…

“Did you finally murder Anderson?”

“No, unfortunately he is still living,” Sherlock replied.

“What’s the occasion, then?” John asked as he sat at the kitchen table.

“No occasion. Well, to thank you for being understanding and dealing with me, I suppose.”

John was still suspicious, but kept it to himself. He did, however, give the wine Sherlock poured him a good inspection before drinking any. The quality surprised him a little, but only until John remembered Sherlock did nothing half-way and the family he came from. The plate of food Sherlock set down in front of him also got inspected thoroughly, earning John a raised eyebrow from his partner.

“I came home to a clean flat and dinner; I’m a little concerned,” John explained. “I’m reasonably sure you haven’t gone completely mad and cooked Anderson, though.”

Sherlock snorted as he settled in across from John at the table in his usual seat. His foot immediately settled on John’s lap, though John ignored that for the moment.

“I wouldn’t serve that idiot to a dog, much less my partner,” Sherlock said with a huff.

John smiled warmly at Sherlock and leaned across the table to kiss him quickly.

“I never get tired of hearing you call me that.”

 

After dinner, John shooed Sherlock out of the kitchen and cleaned up. Sherlock had cleaned the whole flat and cooked, so he thought it only fair that he cleaned up the dinner mess. Just as he placed the last dish on the draining rack, Sherlock slid his arms around John’s waist and buried his face in John’s shoulder.

“Are you scenting again?” John asked, leaning into the embrace.

“Maybe a bit, but mostly I’d just like you to come with me.”

John allowed Sherlock to lead him into their sitting room and his favorite chair. He hardly had time to notice that his favorite pillow was missing before Sherlock was straddling his lap and giving him bedroom eyes.

“In the chair, Sherlock? Really?” John asked, settling his hands on Sherlock’s hips.

“In the chair, really. I need to mark my territory.”

“Are you being serious or – oooh fuck.”

Sherlock cut off the conversation with a roll of his hips, something he’d gotten much better at since that first snog. With a smirk, he nudged John’s head to the side and nipped at his neck while inhaling deeply.

“I assure you that I am completely serious about this. Take off your shirt.”

Without a moment’s hesitation, John took his shirt off and threw it across the room. He reached for Sherlock’s but was stopped when Sherlock licked the tattoo on his chest. The tattoo, placed more or less above his heart, had been there since John had made it into the RAMC and Sherlock had seen it many times.

“This is your cap badge, yes?” Sherlock asked, running his fingers along the Rod of Asclepius.

“It is,” John replied. “Why are you so interested all of a sudden?”

“I did some research. This is the cap badge of the Royal Army Medical Corps, symbolizing their loyalty and ability to heal. It suits you perfectly.”

“Now you’re just trying to flatter me.”

Scowling, Sherlock shifted and bit gently at the tattoo. John gasped as Sherlock worked his way from the edge of the ink to his neck, biting in just the right spots. As the biting and marking continued, John sighed and ran his hands through Sherlock’s messy curls. He yanked on the curls with no preamble, tipping Sherlock’s head and exposing his neck for John to mark.

“Strip. I want everything off,” he ordered between nips.

Sherlock scrambled to obey; he hurriedly got off John’s lap and peeled his clothes off, tossing them around the sitting room. While he got naked, John did the same before settling into his chair again and beckoning Sherlock over. Sherlock straddled John’s hips with a smirk and a slow roll of his hips, dragging a moan out of both of them. As he repeated the action, Sherlock buried his face in John’s neck and breathed in deep. The scent of John combined with the feeling of skin-on-skin and the impending full moon worked against Sherlock’s stamina, but he couldn’t be bothered to care.

“John, please,” he panted, digging his nails into John’s side and dragging them down.

“ _Fuck_ ,” John swore and bit down on Sherlock’s shoulder. “Again. Please.”

Nodding, Sherlock slowly scratched at John’s side again and was rewarded with an even louder groan. John continued to swear against Sherlock’s skin, biting and kissing his neck and shoulder as their movements became erratic.

“John… John, I-I’m…”

“It’s alright. Relax, love.”

Sherlock moved quickly, grabbing John’s face with his free hand and kissing him passionately. It soon became open-mouthed and messy, broken up by pants and moans. John tugged on Sherlock’s hair again and that did it; Sherlock growled into John’s mouth as he came, dragging his nails down both sides of John’s ribcage. The scratching got John off with a shout of Sherlock’s name and more tugging on his ruffled hair.

“How long until moonrise?” John asked as he relaxed into the chair’s cushions.

“An hour or so,” Sherlock replied, nuzzling John’s shoulder. “We have enough time to clean up before I change.”

“We’ll go shower in a moment, then. When my legs work again.”

 

It took a bit, but eventually the two of them were able to get out of John’s chair. Sherlock went up to their bedroom to get John’s pajamas, insisting that John had to wait until bedtime to see the bedroom. John naively assumed that Sherlock had cleaned or rearranged it and used the opportunity to spray down his chair with fabric cleaner. He’d perfected the art of mysterious stain cleaning since moving in with Sherlock, as he didn’t want to know what most stains had been caused by.

By the time Sherlock returned to the sitting room, John had cleaned up the more obvious spots on the cushions. Deciding to finish it later, John followed Sherlock into the bathroom. They managed to shower without groping each other too much, though Sherlock apparently found John’s tattoos irresistible and ran his fingers over the ink as often as he could.

When they had finished, Sherlock had barely finished drying himself before he was rushing off upstairs to change. John took things much slower but still made it to the couch before Sherlock did. He had already settled in with a cup of tea and Top Gear by the time Sherlock trotted in with his brush, plopping it on John’s lap and sitting in front of him.

“Oh, of course you want me to brush you,” John said, smiling as he moved to start brushing.

The moment the brush touched his fur, Sherlock’s tail started wagging. It hit John’s feet every so often, making him laugh as he brushed Sherlock. Once Sherlock was satisfied with his grooming, he jumped up on the couch and laid across John’s lap, nudging his hand to ask for pets. They stayed like that for a while, until Sherlock yawned and John nudged him gently off his lap.

“Come on, love, time for bed.”

Sherlock followed John up to their bedroom, flicking his tail nervously as they went. At the top of the stairs, he slipped past John and onto the bed where he curled up in his den. John paused, not sure how to react.

“What’s this? Did you make a mess or is this something else?” he asked.

Sherlock replied with a nervous yip before burrowing in as if to invite John to his den. John took the hint and crossed the room to join Sherlock without hesitation. As he settled in, John noticed what the den was made of – his shirts and jumpers, his uniform, Sherlock’s coat and scarf, there’s where the Union Jack pillow went…

“Did you make this for me?”

Sherlock answered with another yip, this time more confident. John seemed to be accepting and fine with this development, so he had nothing to worry about now.

“Thank you, love. It’s very cozy and I appreciate it.”

This time, Sherlock made an excited huffing noise and rested his head on John’s stomach. John ruffled the fur between his ears, earning a lick from Sherlock.

“Let’s get some sleep, yeah? Good night, love.”

Sherlock licked John once more, and then proceeded to fall asleep more or less on top of him.


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Please be sure to read the end notes!** For now, just enjoy Sherlock losing what remained of his virginity. And please accept my humble apologies for how long it took to finish this chapter.
> 
> As always, please point out any typos or other mistakes you notice.

The next morning, John was surprised to find Sherlock wrapped around him and sleeping soundly. Most mornings, Sherlock was gone by the time John woke up, so this was something John was going to enjoy. By kissing Sherlock’s forehead and promptly falling back asleep.

When he woke up again, Sherlock was straddling his hips and staring.

“What are you doing, love? We’ve talked about the ‘watching you sleep’ thing, haven’t we?”

“I want you to take my virginity, John.”

“…What? We just woke up, and I’ve never even… I don’t think you’re ready.”

“I’m ready, John, I assure you. Now make love to me.”

Sighing, John moved Sherlock off his hips and sat up. He placed his hands on Sherlock’s shoulders and locked eyes with him.

“You’re certain?” he asked.

“Absolutely.”

“Alright. Let’s go get cleaned up a bit, and then we’ll come back to bed.”

John led Sherlock down to the bathroom, where he insisted they both have a thorough shower and brush their teeth. Despite his bravado, Sherlock looked anxious the entire time. John pulled him close and hugged him tight, hoping to calm him down a bit.

“We don’t have to do this, love. We can wait. I don’t want you to feel pressured.”

“I want to do this, John.”

Nodding, John led Sherlock back up to their bedroom. He made sure to lock the door behind them, and once he had, Sherlock practically pounced and pinned him to the door. Before John could even register that his back had hit the door, Sherlock was kissing him passionately. He’d gotten better since their relationship began and soon had John clinging to him for support.

“Right, shouldn’t have doubted you,” John said, grinning as he guided Sherlock toward the bed.

Sherlock returned the grin as he tugged John’s shirt off and tossed it across the room.

“Get the rest of your clothes off while I move the den,” Sherlock ordered.

While Sherlock did just that, John added his pajamas to the chaos and wondered if their room would ever be clean again. Knowing Sherlock, it wouldn’t be, but that hardly bothered John anymore. He didn’t know what the hell a den meant or if it would be a permanent fixture, but he did know he found it touching that Sherlock had made one for them.

Once the bed had been cleared of the den, Sherlock dragged John down onto the mattress and kissed him fiercely. He slid his hands into John’s short hair, ruffling it and keeping him close as they kissed. John hurried to prop himself up as Sherlock shifted to let John settle between his legs, practically purring into his mouth at the touch.

“Slow down, love,” John mumbled against his lips. “Don’t hurry this.”

Ignoring him, Sherlock moved to nibble his earlobe before trailing kisses down John’s neck.

“Sherlock, stop. We’re going slow or not at all.”

Sherlock huffed and stared at the wall defiantly. John saw it for the defense mechanism it was and tilted Sherlock’s head back to look him in the eyes.

“You’re scared. It’s alright to be frightened,” John told him. “You know you can always tell me to stop.”

“I am not… I’m just a bit nervous. Please continue.”

“Are you gonna let me take it slowly?”

“Yes, fine, just carry on.”

Smirking, John kissed Sherlock’s lips before moving to his chest and kissing slowly down to his navel. He slowed down at that point, moving at a torturous pace toward Sherlock’s growing erection before moving to his inner thigh instead. Sherlock gasped as John nipped at his pale skin, leaving small marks. Finally, John sucked at one of the bite marks and created a large hickey that would purple quickly.

When John moved away and looked up, Sherlock dragged him up for another kiss and managed to make it even more heated than the last. He shifted as he sucked John’s bottom lip into his mouth and rolled his hips, earning a soft sound from John. Following Sherlock’s lead, John moved to kiss along Sherlock’s neck as he rolled his hips. Sherlock gasped and dragged his nails down John’s back as he tilted his head to the side to encourage John’s marking. John took the hint and sucked on a spot just above where Sherlock’s collar would rest, undeniably staking his claim and making it obvious what they had gotten up to.

John sat up after his mark was complete and had started to turn purple, admiring his handiwork. Sherlock was sprawled on the bed, flushed and panting and already looking debauched. When he opened his eyes to glare at John, his pupils had blown wide enough to leave only a small ring of icy blue-gray visible.

“What are you doing?” Sherlock demanded, his voice already taking on the sex-associated rasp John so loved.

“Just admiring my partner. You look fantastic like this.”

With a huff, Sherlock pulled John down into another kiss. He hooked one leg around John’s waist to keep him from getting too far away again and rocked his hips. They both groaned into the kiss, which quickly became messy and hurried. John ground against Sherlock while they kissed, unable to resist the temptation and causing Sherlock to make a strange noise that sounded almost like a squeak.

“Are you alright, love?” John asked, stopping his movements completely.

“Yes. No. You need to stop.”

John tried to move away, but Sherlock used his leg to keep him in place.

“I didn’t mean the intercourse. We need to move on or I will orgasm before we get to the penetration,” Sherlock elaborated.

“Right, of course that’s what you meant,” John grumbled. “Please be more specific; I was worried I’d hurt you or you were scared.”

“I am scared, but I was told that it’s alright to be a bit frightened.”

John slipped out of Sherlock’s grip and moved to his side of the bed. He opened the bedside table’s drawer and grabbed the lube and a condom before settling next to Sherlock. They kissed for a moment before John ran his hand through Sherlock’s hair in a soothing motion.

“This next bit will take awhile,” he warned, pausing to kiss Sherlock again. “If it’s uncomfortable or you don’t like it, we’ll stop.”

Sherlock nodded and shifted so he was flat on his back. Taking the hint, John settled between his legs again before reaching for the bottle he’d left beside Sherlock. He rolled it in his hands a bit before thoroughly coating his index and middle left fingers with the lubricant and shifting again.

“It’s going to be a bit cold and probably feel strange. I promise it’s worth it,” John said as he moved Sherlock’s legs. “I’m going to take this slowly because you’re a virgin, okay?”

Another nod from Sherlock and John got to work. He slowly ran his finger around Sherlock’s entrance, prompting a good wiggle. While he calmed Sherlock, John slowly slid his index finger inside and hoped Sherlock wouldn’t squirm too much. Instead, he arched and inhaled sharply.

“Are you alright, love?” John asked, shifting his hand and slowly opening Sherlock.

“It’s… It’s an odd feeling. Not unpleasant, just… odd.”

“Let me know if it gets unpleasant.”

“I will,” Sherlock promised, and John could already hear his voice wavering.

John resumed kissing Sherlock’s thighs as he slowly worked his finger, this time more as a calming gesture than to arouse Sherlock. Every so often he would pause to give Sherlock a moment to relax and breathe deeply. Eventually, John knew it was time to move things along a bit.

“I’m going to add a second finger, love,” he warned, doing just that slowly.

As he had before, Sherlock hissed and squirmed before settling back down. John let him get used to the feeling before moving his hand again, this time searching for Sherlock’s prostate. When he found it and massaged lightly, Sherlock gasped before making a sound that could only be described as ‘keening.’

“I know exactly what that was, and you had better not do it again or you’ll never get to the penetration,” Sherlock panted.

John backed off with a smirk and began spreading his fingers gently. Sherlock shifted a little while he did, getting comfortable again after moving around so much. It ultimately proved to be a futile effort, however, as John’s stretching got Sherlock squirming again soon enough. As promised, John shied away from prostate stimulation, but that didn’t stop him from using his free hand and mouth to keep Sherlock aroused and interested. More bruises joined the ones John had made earlier and began to creep up Sherlock’s stomach as John marked him thoroughly.

“John, _please_ ,” Sherlock whined, moving his hips and pushing against John’s hand.

“No, Sherlock, wait. You’re not ready yet.”

Sherlock growled in the back of his throat, prompting a swat from John.

“No growling. You’re not going to intimidate me into rushing this.”

“What if I howl?”

“You howl, then,” John said with a shrug.

Ignoring any further protests from Sherlock, John picked up the lube and poured more on his hand. He rearranged Sherlock’s legs again before carefully sliding a third finger inside him. Sherlock _did_ howl at that point, though for reasons entirely different from his threat. Once Sherlock had settled back down, John started to move his hand again, slower than before. He carefully spread his fingers to stretch Sherlock out, working slowly and meticulously to keep from hurting Sherlock.

“Now?” Sherlock asked breathlessly.

“Nearly there.”

Sherlock huffed; John continued to move his fingers slowly, grazing Sherlock’s prostate just to tease him. The resulting moan was the most absolutely pornographic sound John had ever heard another person make. Ignoring the continued sounds and begging, John continued on with his preparations. He was determined that Sherlock would feel only minimal pain and enjoy his first time, and no amount of growling or howling would change that.

Eventually, Sherlock stopped asking if John had deemed him ready yet. Not long after Sherlock stopped being remarkably annoying for a man in his position, John withdrew his hand and reached for the condom package next to them. Sherlock perked up as John tore the foil and rolled the condom on, looking clearly excited for a reason that didn’t involve death.

“Now,” John teased, moving to kiss Sherlock quickly.

After he moved away from Sherlock, John grabbed a pillow and slid it under Sherlock’s hips.

“It helped me the first time I was in your position,” he explained. “This is your first time, so we’re going slow, alright?”

“I suppose,” Sherlock grumbled. “Just get on with it.”

Rolling his eyes, John coated his erection with lubricant and settled between Sherlock’s legs again before kissing his nose.

“If it hurts, you can tell me to stop,” he reminded Sherlock.

“I know. Now _in_ ,” Sherlock demanded.

“I’m going, calm down.”

John shifted a bit and slowly started to push in, making Sherlock gasp. As he continued to slide in, Sherlock began panting and dug his nails into John’s shoulders.

“Are you alright, love?” John asked, moving to kiss his neck.

“Y-yes. Please keep going.”

Nodding, John continued until his hips were flush with Sherlock’s. By that point, Sherlock had started to tremble slightly with his eyes tightly closed. John nuzzled under his chin and kissed Sherlock’s neck gently, hoping to comfort him.

“Are you still okay?”

Sherlock nodded wordlessly, not trusting his voice at the moment. While he adjusted and relaxed, John stayed where he was, nuzzling and kissing Sherlock’s neck and shoulders. Eventually the trembling subsided and Sherlock opened his eyes again. John smiled softly and ran his clean hand through Sherlock’s hair.

“Tell me when you’re ready for me to move,” he said, rubbing the spot just behind Sherlock’s ear that never failed to calm him.

A few minutes of hair stroking later, Sherlock finally spoke up.

“You can move, but go slowly,” he ordered.

“Of course, dear.”

John shifted and kissed Sherlock as he slowly pulled out just a bit before pushing back in. Sherlock’s breath stuttered through the movement and his grip tightened on John’s shoulders.

“Are you alright?” John asked, continuing his slow movements.

“I’m fine.”

Trusting Sherlock to tell him if something was wrong, John kept up with his shallow thrusts. Sherlock slowly became more pliable and even wrapped a leg around John’s waist again as his breathing became panting. At that point, John shifted and started to thrust into Sherlock in earnest, drawing a soft moan out of him. Sherlock buried his face in John’s neck, breathing in his calming scent and biting occasionally.

“Faster,” Sherlock mumbled into John’s neck.

Nodding, John began to move a little faster. Sherlock wrapped his other leg around John and groaned, dragging his nails down John’s back before scrabbling at his hip.

“Alright, love?” John asked, moving to look at Sherlock’s face.

“H-hit my prostate,” Sherlock replied. “Keep doing that. Please.”

“Well, since you asked so nicely.”

John moved his hips just right and hit Sherlock’s prostate dead-on, making his back arch as he moaned loudly. John could feel his legs tense on every thrust, joining the sounds Sherlock was making to turn John on even more.

“Are you curling your toes?”

Sherlock simply nodded, unable to get much out other than pleasured sounds as John moved in him. He could hear the smile in John’s voice and couldn’t help but smile a little into his neck. The moment quickly turned back to extremely sexual as John picked up the pace again and made Sherlock start to howl. In any other situation, John would have told Sherlock to shut up, but instead he simply kept thrusting and moved to bite Sherlock’s neck again. The howls became a loud groan, followed by Sherlock’s nails down his back again.

“You’re close, aren’t you?”

More nodding from Sherlock. He seemed to have lost the ability to speak or had forgotten most of his vocabulary in a few short minutes. It didn’t last long, however, as Sherlock started to mumble encouragements after being quiet for a bit. Their positions meant that anything Sherlock said was whispered right into John’s ear, something Sherlock apparently still had the capacity to exploit.

“Do you need me to touch you?” John asked, moving away a bit to look at Sherlock.

“No, just… _Ooh_ , like that,” Sherlock replied.

John did just that, though he shifted again to kiss Sherlock. As soon as their lips touched, Sherlock buried his fingers in John’s hair again and opened his mouth to deepen the kiss. He moaned into John’s mouth as they moved together, eventually breaking away and panting heavily. Recognizing that Sherlock was about to orgasm, John buried his face in Sherlock’s neck again and started biting. The more marks he left, the more Sherlock panted and moaned. Eventually, it became too much and Sherlock came, shouting John’s name and dragging his nails down his partner’s back.

As soon as Sherlock stopped clawing at him, John carefully pulled out of him. Sherlock made a faint whining noise as John disposed of the condom and started to stroke himself. It didn’t take long for him to come, earning an appreciative sound out of Sherlock. Deciding to ignore their mess for the time being, John curled up with Sherlock and held him close as they relaxed. Surprisingly, Sherlock reciprocated the cuddles and clung to John.

“I take it you enjoyed it, then?” John laughed, playing with Sherlock’s sweaty curls.

“Very much so. Thank you.”

“You don’t have to thank me, love.”

Sherlock simply made that peculiar snuffling sound he was so fond of and buried his face in John’s neck.

 

After the last full moon night of the month, Mycroft “kidnapped” John and took him out for lunch. They went to some terribly posh restaurant John didn’t catch the name of, and he knew it could only be about Sherlock.

“John, I know you’ve had intercourse with my brother,” Mycroft told him after they placed their orders.

“The fact that you know that disturbs me greatly,” John replied, sipping his coffee casually.

“I simply feel that I must warn you about what will happen if you break his heart.”

“No one, not even Sherlock, will find the body. I know.”

“I’m glad we understand each other.”

Mycroft smiled, though John knew it was the one he forced. They ate mostly in silence, occasionally sharing news and laughing about the other people eating in the restaurant. As the waiter picked up their plates, John remembered the den Sherlock had made and figured Mycroft would know what the hell he was up to.

“Mycroft, Sherlock made this… He called it a den, and it was really just a pile of my clothes with some of his thrown in.”

“Excuse me?”

“Sherlock made a den. I think.”

Mycroft’s teacup clattered as he set it on the table, and he looked genuinely worried, which made John worried in turn.

“John, that’s… That’s very serious. You need to have a talk about it with him. I trust you to handle it as well as you always do, but this is a delicate subject and you need to have a talk with Sherlock _very_ soon. When you get home, if you can.”

“Alright, I’ll have a talk with him. Just… calm down. I’m sure it’s not that serious.”

“It is, in fact, ‘that serious,’ John Watson.”

“Okay, okay. This is _very_ serious, and I will have a _very_ serious talk with Sherlock about it when I get home. Thanks for lunch; I’m gonna go have that talk now.”

With that, John got up with a tense smile and hurried out, eager to find out what the hell had Mycroft so spooked he made a teacup rattle.

 

Sherlock was stretched out on the sofa in his thinking pose when John got home. He quickly came out of his thoughts and sat up when he heard the door open, eager to see his partner. After taking his shoes off, John joined him on the couch and let Sherlock rest against him.

“Your brother kidnapped me to lunch,” John explained, threading his fingers through Sherlock’s hair.

“And he told you that he’d kill you if you broke my heart.”

“That he did. I asked him about that den thing, by the way. His teacup rattled. Is there something you didn’t tell me?”

The flat grew quiet again and John could almost hear Sherlock trying to process an escape route out of an explanation.

“Out with it, love,” John prodded.

“It’s… Denning is a very intimate gesture between partners. It means that a wolf is settled and serious about the relationship. And it is… I wasn’t supposed to do that unless we were engaged to be married or already married.”

“You weren’t going to tell me that, were you?”

“If I could get around it, no I was not. Denning is also common among couples trying to start a family. I told you I was ready for sex, because that’s what denning means. It’s a neon sign declaring ‘HAVE PUPS WITH ME.’”

“So what you’re saying is you want to get married and have a child?”

“Apparently, yes. Actually, now that Mycroft knows I’ve built a den, we _have_ to get engaged. We don’t have to get married straight away, and certainly no children.”

“Can I ask you properly when there isn’t a threat of the British government literally ripping my throat out?”

“Absolutely.”

“I’ll have to go see your mother and ask permission, then. I’ll call her and see if it would be alright to drop in tomorrow for tea. Do you want to come?”

“I think it would be best if I did.”

John nodded and quietly played with Sherlock’s hair for a few minutes. Sherlock let him for a bit before shifting and pulling John into a heated kiss.

“Do you want to go celebrate?” he asked, smirking and looking at John from under his eyelashes.

“Oh, God, yes.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This fic is now completed! I do want to continue with this universe, because I just fucking love it. Next, of course, would be engagement and marriage and driving Mycroft insane with wedding plans. So, you know, more adorable to come.


End file.
